Modus Operandi
by Sanqhian
Summary: Danny never managed to get out from under Sonny Sassone. And Flack can't get the troubled man out of his head. Slash.
1. Too Much of Too Little

**One: Too Much of too Little**

He rolled onto his back, glaring at the ceiling and waiting for the alarm clock to go off. He could already hear the hustle and bustle of the city outside. Then again, the sounds of the city never stopped, one of the charms belonging to New York City. He'd grown in up in the state, grew used to the sounds and actually welcomed them. He couldn't imagine living anywhere else. Closing his eyes momentarily he listened to the man snoring beside him in the bed. Chandler worked for the fire department. They met at a crime scene a few months back, a fire that took the lives of three people. They hit it off instantly and started spending a lot of time together off the job. One thing led to another and now they were in a relationship. He was actually surprised that both departments seemed comfortable with their relationship. At least he never sensed any animosity.

Rolling onto his side he gazed at the alarm clock. There remained another ten minutes until the alarm sounded. He wasn't sure what woke him from a sound sleep but he wished he could have slept the extra ten minutes. In his line of work sleep was something he couldn't take for granted. Though he was happy to have made it through the night without getting a single phone call. Those were the nights he hated the most, getting called away from the comfort of his bed to oversee some horrible act of cruelty. It came with the territory of being a detective of the NYPD. And despite the personal problems he had with his job he couldn't imagine doing anything else with his life. He came from a family cops, and over the years he'd made some really great friends.

Plus, had he not been a cop he never would have met Chandler.

As if reading his mind the firefighter snaked an arm around his waist. "Let me guess, the alarm is going to sound in a matter of moments?" The words were spoken in a sleepy voice.

"Yeah," confirmed Flack. "Unfortunately."

Chandler let out a disgruntled sigh. "Didn't we just get to bed? Or is it my imagination?"

"I'm afraid it's your imagination," Flack answered, turning to face the firefighter. "It merely seems like we just got to bed because yesterday was hell. You had that damned warehouse fire and I still don't know how I managed to close my last case. Talk about a whirlwind."

"Eh, not every day you run across a serial killer and get to hear your name on the night news," Chandler smiled.

The alarm buzzed. Flack reached out half-heartedly and pushed the snooze button. He went through the same motion every morning but never actually stayed in bed long enough for the alarm to sound a second time. Throwing back the covers he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched. Outside he could hear the familiar sounds of the city and wondered what it would be like to live somewhere out in the country. Not that he ever planned to move, mainly because he loved his job and because he knew that he'd miss the sounds of the traffic and people. Standing, he made his way through the bedroom to the bathroom.

"Maybe I'll join you in the shower," Chandler called after him from the bed.

Flack stopped in the doorway looking back at his firefighter. Chandler was muscular in all the right ways with close-cropped brown hair and sparkling green eyes. "You don't have to be in at work today. Correct me if I'm wrong but you don't have shift again until the end of the week."

A mischievous glint appeared in the firefighter's eyes. "Big deal. Maybe I want to have a little morning fun. With our work schedules I feel that I hardly get to see you"

"Well, if you're coming than get your ass in gear. I don't have all day," Flack smiled.

* * *

Later that morning Flack wandered into the crime lab. A lot of his fellow detectives gave him crap over how friendly he'd become with the lab rats but he couldn't help it, they were an extremely likable group of people. Detective Mac Taylor ran one of a hell tight ship and because of his team a lot of crimes were solved instead of getting stuck on the cold case shelf. Stella Boneasara was basically second in charge, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she was Mac's wife. She'd been his right hand woman well before they'd fallen in love and gotten married on the spur of the moment. She claimed to have kept her maiden name for professional reasons; which Flack understood. Working under them was Lindsay Monroe all the way out from Montana and still getting the hang of things; Aidan the spite fire who had one hell of a work drive; and Sheldon Hawks the former medical examiner turned crime scene investigator. When Flack first met Hawks he spent a lot of his time in the morgue like some morbid hermit. He was happy to see the man out and about.

Finishing off the team was Adam, the only real lab rat that Flack hung out with since the rest were investigators and Adam a lab technician, and Sid the new medical examiner. Flack had to admit that he liked Sid's odd sense of humor, made trips into the morgue that much easier to deal with. There were other people in the lab, scores of technicians and the like, but these were the only people that Flack worked with, the only ones he cared to work with.

He walked through the halls in search of any of them hoping to strike up a conversation. He'd been bored out of his mind sitting at his desk at the precinct. No calls had come in that needed him for the time being. All the other detectives were busy working crimes, actually doing their jobs. Sure he'd closed a big case the day just before but he liked to be out stopping the criminals, putting the bad guys behind bars. He ran into Mac coming out of the break room with a cup of coffee in hand.

"Where is everyone?" he asked.

Mac looked at him, not bothering to stop as he headed back toward his office. "Out on calls. Stella and Lindsay are dealing with a break-in while Aidan checks out a stolen car possibly used to traffic drugs."

"And Hawks?"

"Last time I saw him he was headed in the general direction of the morgue. Sid never balks at the offer of a helping hand."

"Does it ever stop?" Flack asked with a subtle shake of his head.

"If it did we wouldn't have jobs."

"Morbid way to think of things."

"But the truth."

Flack sighed. "I just wish that for once something good would come of all this. I mean, yeah, we catch the bad guys and get justice for the victims but….I don't know. I want to honestly change a life without it involving murder and mayhem."

"Good luck with that," Mac said as he stopped in the doorway of his office. "This line of work is full of murder and mayhem."

"Hey, a guy can dream."


	2. Lights Police Action

**Chapter Two: Lights, Police, Action**

He puttered around the outside of the crime scene. There was nothing for him to do at the moment. Nobody to interview, nobody to pester or hangout with. Not even a single soul at which he could yell to stay behind the crime scene tape. He got the call a short time ago and had been the first on scene. After going through the building with a uniformed officer to make sure it was clear he wandered outside to lean against the unmarked car. He opted to wait for the crime scene investigators, keeping the scene locked so that nobody could tamper with anything. Not that there was anyone around to do any tampering. Most of the buildings on the street were deserted, boarded up, covered in graffiti. At one point someone went speeding down the empty road, completely ignoring the fact that there were cops parked along the curb. Flack gave the officer the good ahead to follow the guy.

And he'd been standing around alone since then. How much time had passed? Where the hell was everybody? It wasn't like they could have trouble finding the place since they used GPS devices in the lab cars. What was taking them so long? He checked his watch estimating that it must have been a good twenty to thirty minutes since his arrival on the scene. With the officer gone he was stuck in place so there was no option to do work on a few of his other open cases. Until the scene was processed it looked like he was going to have a shitty day. Maybe Lady Luck would shine down on him and the officer would return.

Almost as if reading his thoughts he heard the sound of a car approaching. Looking over his shoulder he hoped to see the familiarity of the crime lab vehicle but spotted a dark SUV rolling slowly down the street. The minute he spotted the vehicle the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. It might have been the fact that he'd been watching too many action movies as of late but something about the expensive, dark colored SUV driving slowly down the road sent off alarm bells. It looked out of place. None of the still open shops in the area would have been worth the time to a person that could afford such a high-end model. With some trepidation he watched as the SUV pulled up a car's length away from his own cruiser. He tried to remain cool, staying in position as he watched the vehicle. The gun holstered on his hip brought him a little comfort.

The passenger side door opened. A rather burly man dressed in all black like some cliché climbed out, then pulled open the back passenger door. Another man slipped out of the vehicle. There didn't seem to be anything remarkable about this new man but Flack felt that he vaguely knew the man, but couldn't put a finger on why. The two of them walked across the street talking in hushed voices. Flack didn't have to look to know that they were headed to a deli across from his crime scene. He'd been smelling fresh baked bread for the last…he'd didn't exactly know how long. He relaxed a bit, happy to see that there would be no trouble. He could have been a sitting duck.

He thought about reaching into the car and calling for an officer on his radio when movement near the car caught his attention. The driver's side door opened allowing a man with brownish-blond hair to exit the car. Flack stared, he couldn't help it. The man wore faded black jeans that fit just right and the white sleeveless t-shirt showed off his muscles; which were enough to warn anyone not to pick a fight but not so impressive as to be a turn off. The man also wore a pair of glasses. It too Flack a few minutes to realize that he couldn't stop staring because he found the man attractive.

Someone honked a horn, causing him to jump. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the unknown man reach for something behind his back. Once again Flack felt a flutter of panic. He sure as hell did not want to have a shoot out today.

"Hey Flack," Aidan called him from across the street.

He stood, turning to face her and Hawks as they walked across the street. "Where the hell have the two of you been? I feel like I've been out here forever."

"Car accident," Hawks responded. "Creates a hell of a lot of traffic in this city."

"There's always a hell of a lot of traffic in this city," pointed out Flack. "Let's get this show on the road. I have other things to do today."

Aidan looked at the hulking SUV with a little apprehension, then decided that if it wasn't bothering Flack she shouldn't be worried. The three of them trooped into the brick apartment building. Flack showed them where to find the bodies. He stood in the entranceway to the room while they gave the scene their first initial inspection. Then they started popping open kits and collecting samples of fibers, body fluids and whatever else might be of use. Usually they chatted while working to help pass the time but Flack didn't feel like holding a conversation with anyone. He couldn't shake the sudden feeling that something terrible was going to happen. Or already had. He kept resisting the urge to look back over his shoulder.

The sound of sirens outside the building drew his attention. He motioned for the two CSI's to remain working while he went to investigate the commotion. Had the man in the SUV been brazen enough to hold up the deli with a detective right across the street? When he stepped back out into the brilliant sunlight he found two squad cars had joined the party. One parked behind the crime lab vehicle while the other had stopped in the road, lights twirling. Flack noticed two guys standing in the deli doorway, the third man still positioned outside their high-end SUV. He was watching the scene with a wary eye.

"Detective Flack," the uniformed officer in the closest patrol car called his name. "There's been an accident. I was told to come get you."

"What sort of accident?"

"They wouldn't say," the officer responded. "Just said that I needed to come get you, that it was urgent."


	3. We're Supposed

**Chapter Three: We're Supposed to do that now and then**

This was wrong, every last bit of it was wrong. How could his day have taken such a drastic and horrible turn? When he woke up that morning he knew that there would be death, murder and all that shit he dealt with on a day to day basis. But this, he never once thought that it would come to this. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cool wall. He didn't want to think, didn't know what to do with himself. All he could do was ask the same questions over and over again, replay the voice of the man who spoke to him not too long ago. At one point he thought about returning to his squad car, maybe take out his frustration on a nearby wall. But he did nothing. He was numb from head to toe. The world around him ceased to exist in any time or space. He was alone, lost, a drift on an endless sea, no land in sight.

Someone placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Flack, I'll give you a lift home," Mac offered, speaking soothingly.

The head of the crime lab managed to get him moving. He walked with his arms crossed over his chest to help keep it all in. His practically dragged his feet. Outside the sun was still shining, lighting up the city for a few more hours before leaving it in the unfriendly darkness. Flack actually shivered, glaring in the direction of a woman as she laughed at something her friend said. How could they be so happy? Didn't they hear the news, didn't they understand what happened? There were things that went down not too long ago that changed so much. Why weren't they remorseful, why couldn't they see his sadness, his anger, his despair?

He allowed Mac to manhandle him into the Avalanche, functioning enough on autopilot to remember to put on his seatbelt. What did it matter if he ceased to exist at this very moment? He didn't want the numbness to wear off, didn't want to feel the horrible pain that waited just around the corner to bring him to his knees with tears in his eyes. This just could not have happened. Things like this did not happen to him. He was one of the good guys. How could the world be so cruel? Didn't he deserve to be happy? During the drive to his apartment Mac wisely kept his mouth shut as well as having turned off the radio. No news reports. No calls from the precinct. Nothing. Not a word. The silence was almost too much for him to handle, his brain going into overdrive as it fully dawned on him what had happened.

He clung to himself a little tighter, looking down at his lap instead of watching the world pass outside his window. He didn't care about the world right now, didn't want to see all those people going about their lives while he tried to make heads or tails of the awful truth.

At his apartment building Mac helped him out of the car and through the lobby to the elevator. Neither one of them spoke as he they took that ride. He focused on the beeps the elevator emitted every time that it reached a floor, losing himself in the sound to keep from falling apart right then and there. For as long as he could remember he'd always been the tough cop, the detective that didn't give a shit and got the job done the way it needed to be. Over the years he tracked down terrible people, some of which committed unspeakable crimes. Hell, he even helped out on a case that was across state lines, the murderer having operated in New York and down in Florida. There were so many highs in his career, a few lows, and some great friends. But none of that mattered right now. All he could do was think about the pain, wondering how he would manage to keep it at bay.

Mac walked him to the door, even unlocked it, swinging it open. "Do you want me to stay? Maybe talk about this?"

Flack shook his head. "No."

Thankfully Mac understood. "All right. Remember, I'm just a phone call away should you need me. Don't hesitate to call, Flack."

The man hesitated a moment before turning on his heel and vanishing down the hall. Flack closed the door to his apartment, finding the silence inside somewhat unwelcoming. The familiarity of the place was supposed to bring him comfort but how was it supposed to do that when there memories were everywhere? Thrown over the back of the couch was one of Chandler's pullovers, the one he usually wore when they went jogging in the evening before heading to bed. He let his fingers brush against the fabric before he couldn't take it anymore, falling to the floor. He rested against the back of the couch, knees drawn up to his chest as he tried to wipe the memories from his mind.

The accident, the horrible truth of the day.

The four-alarm fire in an old apartment building under renovation.

The terrible fire that caused the collapse of not one but three floors.

And along the way it claimed the lives of three firefighters.

Snuffed out their lives much as they planned to snuff out the flames.

His beloved Chandler had been one of the firefighters lost.

After much work they managed to put the fire out and by some stroke of luck recovered the bodies of their fallen comrades. There was no discussion, no news on exactly what killed the three men. It could have been the collapse, probably was, what did it really matter? What happened had happened and there was nothing he could do to change it. Not one damn thing could he do to bring Chandler back into his life. He looked toward the apartment door wishing with all his might for the door to open and for Chandler to be standing there, he wanted them to be wrong, wanted them to have fucked up. But it wasn't possible. It wasn't going to happen.

Without really thinking about he reached for his cell phone, dialing Mac's number. He didn't say anything; merely let it ring three times before hanging up, throwing the cell phone across the room. Minutes later the door to his apartment swung open as Mac let himself in. Mac didn't say a thing, crossing the room and taking a seat on the floor at Flack's side. He put an arm around his friend's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. At his touch Flack finally started crying, unable to hold it in any longer.

"It isn't fair, Mac," he sobbed. "It just isn't fair. He was here this morning and now….how am I supposed to forget about him?"

"You don't," Mac told him. "You never forget about him. You keep those precious memories locked away in your heart. They never go away but the pain gets easier to handle."

"Is that how you coped with the loss of your first wife?" Flack inquired, knowing that Mac's first love had perished when the towers fell.

"Claire. I think about her a lot. Sometimes when I'm with Stella I think about Claire, how she would have laughed at the situation or how she would have loved it. It's not that I don't love Stella but nothing can take away from that first true love."

"I want the pain to go away."

"In time."

"How could this have happened? How can he be gone?"

"I don't know," answered Mac. "I honestly don't know."


	4. Love Without End

**Chapter Four: Love Without End**

Much later that night Mac sat on the end of his bed, eyes closed, thinking and worrying about Flack. He'd known the detective for so long he couldn't even begin to count the years. As usual in their line of work they dealt with many ups and downs. But up until now the detective kept going, always chomping at the bit, ready to do whatever was required of him to get the job done and done right. They made a fairly good team. There used to be another detective, a female, that they worked with but she came under fire and was lost in the battle of good against evil. There was something about Flack, something special that made him want to work solely with the detective. Of course, that wasn't really productive so he made due with others when he had to.

Now, though, he worried about Flack's well being. The relationship with Chandler had been very whirlwind, a surprise to all of them. Well, not him, he learned a long time ago that Flack liked dating guys; which didn't bother him in the least. Thankfully, he happily noticed none of the others seemed bothered either, though Aidan, being her typical self, warned Chandler upon first meeting that should he break Flack's heart he would regret it, she'd see to it personally. He smiled at the memory, fleeting. Would Flack be able to be pull himself together and get back on his feet? Or would he fall to pieces? Mac knew the look of love when he saw it. He saw it often enough in the mirror when he was married to Claire and now while he was married to Stella.

At that moment the object of his affection walked into the room dressed for bed. She gave him one look before sinking down on the mattress beside him and taking him in her arms. "He is strong, sweetheart, he can pull through this and if he should fall he has a good deal of friends to help him back up."

He rested his head on her shoulder. "I know but I've been down that road before and it isn't a pleasant one. He's still reeling from the death of Angel. This was definitely the last thing he needed. When you think about it Chandler helped to bring him out of that depression. Now he has been thrust into another."

"Well, how about this, we can make up a schedule at the lab. One of us can be with Flack for a few hours a day while the others work, then someone else can take over. He will always be under a watchful eye. Should he need a shoulder to cry, one will be waiting," Stella suggested, always waiting with a brilliant idea. It was one of the many things that he loved about her.

"Perhaps that will work," Mac said after thinking about it for a few minutes. "I'll call a meeting tomorrow and suggest it to the others. Guess the only thing to do now is get some rest."

She moved to the head of the bed, throwing back the covers and fluffing her pillow. "Do you have your cell phone just in case?"

"Always," he replied as he slipped out of his pants, throwing them toward the hamper. "Let's just hope that we make it through the night without any interruptions. Calls in the middle of the night never bring good news."

He fell into bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist. After an exhausting day he drifted off to sleep fairly quickly, wading into a world of unpleasant dreams. When his cell phone rang it was close to midnight. He rolled onto his back, grabbing the ringing device before it woke Stella, flipping it open. The conversation may have been hushed but the impact was big. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. The events of the day had just changed, everything had taken a surprising turn and not in a good way. When the call was over he lay in bed staring up at the ceiling processing the information. Only when Stella rolled on her side, resting her head on his chest did he finally free himself of the nasty spell.

"Bad news?"

"Isn't it always?"

She sighed forlornly in the night. "Are we going into work before the sun comes up, again?"

"No," he told her. He rubbed a hand up and down her back. "That was a friend of mine, works with the arson investigators. They checked out the fire, wanted to make sure it was indeed an accident that cost those firefighters their lives."

"And was it?"

"No," he whispered, closing his eyes. How was he going to break the news to Flack? How could he bring himself to tell Flack that someone murdered Chandler?

* * *

Unable to sleep, the pain of memories keeping him awake, Flack trudged down a city sidewalk with no purpose to his step. He decided after an hour of pacing the apartment that he needed to get away, put some distance between him and the place where he was happy merely days before. It never once occurred to him over the last few months that he was making painful memories when he was having moments of happiness. Had he known in advance would he have it any other way? Maybe, but there was no way to go back, no way to keep Chandler away from the fire. Chandler wasn't even supposed to be working that day. The whole week was wide open for him and yet he went when they needed him most and gave his life in the long run.

Flack shook his head once, stopping momentarily on the sidewalk. He had to stop thinking all these depressing thoughts. Yet deep inside he could feel every little crack in his heart as it continued to break. A long time ago he learned how unfair life could be, it came with the territory of being a cop. And not too long ago he lost one of his detective friends, Angel. Why did it suddenly seem like he had a target on his back? Was he bringing bad luck to all of his friends, did his simple existence mean that they were at risk? He didn't believe in curses, refused to accept such a crazy idea.

And still his heart continued to break.

He walked without destination, going wherever his heart desired, following no designated path. Eventually he realized that he was walking down a familiar street heading toward an all too familiar building. Perhaps on some level he planned for this to happen, maybe he wanted it all along. His pace slowed as he drew nearer to the building, not wanting to lay eyes on what used to be a happy place. When he reached the front of the firehouse he gazed up at the brick façade, ran his hand over the plaque on the wall in front of him. The firefighters inside were sound asleep, shutting out the horrible day, forgetting the terror and the pain in ways he could only wish. Outside someone had placed a piece of wood with the pictures of the three fallen firefighters. Over the last few hours people, random passersby had placed flowers and little trinkets and burning candles around the memorial in a gesture of respect, honor.

Flack couldn't even bring himself to look at the picture of Chandler.

His lover wasn't supposed to be there.

Wiping away a new series of tears with the back of his hand he started away from the firehouse. He thought about Mac, thought about every one of his friends at the lab. Sid was married. Something was going on between Hawkes and the new girl Lindsay, and everybody knew that Aidan had a thing going with an officer. Even Adam had his girlfriend, though he didn't speak about her all that much. Why couldn't he have what they had? Why wasn't he allowed to be happy, to experience the feelings of being in love? Of being loved?

Would the pain ever leave him alone?


	5. The Chill of an Early Fall

**Chapter Five: The Chill of an Early Fall**

Stepping out of the unmarked cruiser he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply the crisp fall air. It wasn't every day that he got to take a trip out of the city and he wanted to enjoy the moment for what it was worth. The months of summer had passed in the blink of an eye while he'd been wrapped up in the arms of Chandler. Without his noticing fall had arrived on the doorstep, the leaves of green giving over to oranges and reds and yellows. Amongst the houses he could smell the foliage instead of car fumes and aromas from restaurants and dumpsters. He closed the car door and started toward the house, ducking under the flapping yellow crime scene tape. Leaves that let go crunched under his shoes.

He shouldn't be at work, that's what the others were thinking. He should be at home taking a break from the world while he grieved for the love he lost. But staying in that apartment with nothing to occupy his mind would surely drive him crazy. He needed to keep busy if he was going to get through this moment in his life. He needed to focus on something other than the pain. So when Mac called him for help on a case he didn't bother to hesitate, didn't even stop to think about what he might be getting himself into. None of the particulars were known to him. He wasn't even sure what the crime was, aside from a recent murder at his current location. He stopped in the middle of the yard, gazing up and down the street at the officers out canvassing the neighborhood in search of witnesses, clues, anything that might lead them in the right direction.

A black SUV backed out of a driveway flashing him back to a few days ago, before the horrible news that shattered his world. He tried his hardest not to think about that guy, the one standing outside the vehicle while the others went into the deli. Best to keep his mind on work; focus on the task at hand. And when he managed to get back to the lab ask Aidan or Hawkes how things were progressing on the case of the two bodies in the apartment building.

"Are you sure that you are up for this?" Mac asked, his voice breaking through the fog in Flack's mind.

Flack turned his gaze toward one of his best friends. "Sure, why wouldn't I be?"

"You seemed lost in your mind there for a few minutes."

Together they headed for the front door, ignoring the few officers standing idly around the scene pretending to work when in actuality they just wanted to be there, to be seen, maybe hoping for something exciting to happen. "Just thinking about the case from a few days ago."

"Must have been an interesting one." Flack told him about it, brought up the mysterious SUV and his curiosity behind it. "Were there three guys? One wearing glasses, one muscular kind of bulldoggish?"

"Yeah, why, do you know them?"

Mac went up the stairs, ignoring the first floor for the time being. Without question Flack followed him. Before reaching the top landing he caught the ever familiar scent of blood hanging thickly on the air. Over the years he learned how to manage his disgust when arriving at the scene of a homicide. When they reached the room that appeared to be the source of the blood they found the walls covered in blood, the bed, every piece of furniture, nearly every square inch. Flack had never seen anything like it before in his life. Some of the blood was dried, crusty. Some of it still dripped from surfaces. A chill trickled down his spine as he gazed around the room trying to locate the body. It may have been his imagination but he didn't see a damned body, no source for all the blood.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

Mac merely shook his head, looking at the room from a different view point. "The human body does not contain this much blood. Either some of this is fake or we have multiple victims." He set his case on the floor outside the door, then started toward the end of the hall checking every room along the way. "In answer to your question, yeah, I know them. The man you saw was Sonny Sassone, a local gangster, the mafia wannabe type. The man with the muscles is his bodyguard, Tony DeLucca. The other guy is Daniel Messer. No one really knows what he does for Sonny."

"Mafia types, huh?" Was it weird for them to be carrying on this conversation after laying eyes on that room?

"Steer clear of them, Flack," Mac warned, glancing back over his shoulder. "Sonny is wanted for a number of crimes, everything from extortion and robbery to murder. None of the charges ever stick. And the last cop that got it into his head that he would be the one to finally put Sonny away disappeared without a trace."

Flack shook his head, happy to discover that none of the other rooms on the top floor contained any disturbing scenes. "Doesn't sound like they're mafia wannabes to me so much as already part of the family."

"Just stay off their radar."

* * *

His hands were shaking as he read the black words printed on the page in front of him. He completely ignored the grayscale picture, reading the same sentence over and over again. How could this even be possible? When he first read the words he thought it some sort of joke, maybe the person writing the article got it wrong. It just could not be true. Here he was trying to cope with the accidental death of the man he loved and doing fairly well if he should say so himself. Then wham, he's blindsided by the one thing he never saw coming. Had Mac been made aware of the recent news? Did his oldest, dearest friend know the truth and keep it from him out of fear of how he'd take it? Noble intentions, no doubt, but he would have rather heard the truth from someone he could trust than read it in the paper.

Folding the paper he tossed it in the nearest recycling bin, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking. Murder. Someone had murdered his lover. Someone with a thing for fire had set that apartment building a blaze. According to the article they used so much accelerant in the process that it was a miracle they didn't die the minute the first match was lit. Murder. Wasn't it bad enough that he lost the man he loved now it had to be to murder? Being a cop he knew the solve rate for most arson cases, very low, and that didn't sit well with him. Someone cruelly took away the one person he thought he could spend the rest of his life with and he wanted to make sure that person spent the rest of their lives rotting in prison for three counts of murder.

The article kept playing word for word in his mind until something he'd read sent up a red flag. The journalist working with the police department had asked for help near the end of the article, talking about witnesses seeing a black SUV not too long before the building caught fire. Apparently it was memorable since most of the buildings were in some form of construction and there were a lot of construction vehicles on the road. The SUV sat outside the building for an estimated fifteen minutes before leaving in a cloud of dust. The eye witnesses, not identified for safety of course, couldn't remember anything but the color of the vehicle.

Nothing else.

He wondered, though, could it be the same people that were outside his crime scene? Could they be responsible for the fire? The realization brought him up short. It was possible, he figured, creating a mental image of his crime scene in reference to the fire. If they took the right roads and avoided most of the traffic he deemed it feasible for them to set the fire and then show-up at the deli minutes later.

Mac told him Sonny Sassone was wanted for crimes including murder.

Sonny made a cop disappear. Taking out a few firefighters was nothing.

"You son of a bitch," Flack cursed through clenched teeth. "You fucking son of a bitch."


	6. I've Convinced Everybody

**Chapter six: I've Convinced Everybody But Me**

Somehow by some freak chance he managed to convince each and every one of them that he was fine, perfectly okay with the recent news released about the fire. Just how he pulled it off did not make any sense to him. Here was a group of people trained to look for the smallest piece of evidence and yet not a single one of them realized he was lying, covering up the truth. On the outside he played the part of the grieving lover, an easy part to play given the circumstances. Meanwhile, on the inside he was seething with hatred. Arsons very rarely if ever got solved so there was little hope of tracking down the party responsible for murdering the man he loved. It did not matter to him that specially trained teams were working through the burned remains of the building trying to find any shred of evidence. Why burn the damn building to begin with? That question loomed above all others.

Had there been something of significance in the building? Something important that needed to be disposed of in a very final way? So far no unexpected bodies had been found. Nothing to point at the reason for arson. It was beginning to look more and more like the building was set on fire for the sheer hell of it; which only made the hatred he felt burn brighter. When those feelings of aggression got to be too much he would take off for the shooting range, put a few bullets into the paper person all the while imagining it as the person responsible for the fire. His boss caught wind of things and forced him to take at least two days off, give him time to chill out in a manner of speaking.

Not that it helped.

He spent those two days holed up in the apartment where he used to have so many happy moments. Most of that time he sat in front of his computer searching through whatever he could get his hands on in relation to Sonny Sassone. In those two days he learned virtually everything there was to learn about the wanna-be mobster. And he began to formulate a plan. He want to talk with one of the people on the crew, get some low level who did not know any better on a small charge, anything to warrant bringing him in for some questioning. Then he would pump the little bastard for information on his boss and the fire. Let the others think what they would, he was not okay with things. He would not be okay until he got the answers he so desperately sought.

Toward the evening of the second day his cell phone rang. A glance at the number and he saw that it was Mac. He ignored, even went so far as to shut off his cell phone. The last thing he wanted to do that moment was talking with his friend. There were other things on his mind and he was not going to let anyone distract him. Not now. Not until he finished this. Having a vague idea of where he might find a few of Sonny's thugs, he slipped his gun into the waistband of his pants, making sure to conceal it under his shirt, grabbed his keys and headed out of the apartment.

His cell phone sat on the desk next to his computer, forgotten.

As he drove toward his destination he tried to think of the perfect way to go about getting what he wanted. Was it possible for him to infiltrate the group or did they already know who he was? He probably should not even waste his time thinking about such a stupid plan. At least two of Sonny's thugs saw him outside the deli that day with a few other officers. They would know him for what he was on sight. It was beginning to look more and more like he was going to have to play the cards as they were dealt, take whatever was offered to him and use it to the best of his advantage.

* * *

Mac hung up the phone with a disgruntled sigh. He leaned back in his office chair, swiveling it around to gaze out at the New York night. Many people called Las Vegas the city that never slept. He often wondered why only Las Vegas had the rights to that title. Surely the likes of New York City and Miami made the list, along with a few others. Sometimes he thought about getting away, leaving the city for an extended period of time. When he had been in the Marines he traveled, saw the world. Since taking the job at the crime lab the only places he had seen were London, Miami and Chicago. He really wanted to get away from it all, maybe hop a plane to some remote cabin deep in the Alaskan forest. Far away from the world of crime that dominated his life. The world of crime that hurt the people he cared about on a daily basis.

"He still not answering?" Adam asked as he strolled into the office with his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. Mac gazed at his reflection in the clean window. The lab tech was usually nervous around him, very unsure of himself but lately when it came to matters of Flack Adam showed a lot more bravery. It only served to remind him how much Flack meant to all of them.

"No. I'm beginning to worry."

"Do you think we should run by his apartment?" suggested Adam.

Mac didn't turn away from the window. "He says that he's fine."

"And you believe that?"

He shook his head. "Not even for a second but I thought it would be nice if we played along. I don't want him hurting anymore. Up until the fire I failed to realize how special Chandler was to him. Perhaps to some extent we all did. Then again, how often has Flack fallen in love? What does one do in a situation like this?"

This time it was Adam who shrugged. "I honestly could not tell you, boss. But I do think that we should be keeping an eye on him. It's a shame that the crimes picked up and prevented us from helping out the way Stella wished. We've all been so busy that maybe Flack feels like we don't care."

"But we do," Mac finally turned to face the lab tech, practically jumping out of his chair. "Flack has been there for all of us at one time or another. Damn it. We nearly lost him once in that explosion. I will not stand idly by while he spirals out of control."

Suddenly Adam seemed to relax. "So you've been thinking along the same lines, huh? He got that tidbit of information on Sonny Sassone and you're just as afraid as I am that he's going to do something completely stupid."

"Love makes us act that way," Mac told him.

"So what do we do?"

"Track him down before he does something he'll regret later," Mac responded, grabbing his keys from where they sat on his desk. "Though I fear we may already be too late."

Together they headed toward the elevators, Adam a step behind his boss. "You don't think he'll go after Sonny alone, do you? I mean, this is Flack we're talking about. He's a pretty level headed guy."

"Wrapped up in a world of grief," Mac pointed out, hitting one of the elevator buttons. "Grief is one of the most powerful emotions. Overruled only by guilt and hatred."


	7. Need I Say More

**Chapter seven: Need I Say More**

Flack cruised the street, pulling along the curb when he realized he needed to ditch his car. He made sure to check that his pistol was loaded before getting out. He wasn't quite sure what he planned on doing but going anywhere near a crook without a little bit of back-up was definitely a stupid idea. Still, he wanted answers to why Chandler had to die. There was no reason for the fire. No reason for the man he loved to be taken from him in a horrible way. Of course, in the time he spent with Chandler he always worried that something like this might happen. That Chandler might get stuck in a fire or worse. It was one of those things that popped into his mind every now and then. He was pretty sure Chandler worried about him when he went off to work. They both worked dangerous jobs, death always a possibility.

He never expected one of them to actually die.

Waltzing down the sidewalk he spotted the man dressed in black from head to toe, the slight bulge of a weapon tucked into his waistband. A dark SUV, the one he remembered from the previous day was parked along the curb. Somewhere within one of the nearby buildings Sonny Sassone was up to no good, probably working on some sort of dirty business project. Flack would have loved marching right into the room and declaring Sonny under arrest. How wonderful it would feel to snap those handcuffs around the crooks wrists and then throw him in a jail cell like a piece of forgotten meat.

He began to slow, trying to formulate a plan. He really should have thought this through before leaving his apartment. How stupid could he have been? Before he could think of a possible move someone reached out from the darkened alley and pulled him off the sidewalk. He stumbled, nearly loosing his feet and falling to the moist pavement. The strong odor of rotting trash assaulted his nose momentarily distracting him. And then instinct kicked in. Flack reached for his gun only to have a hand grab him by the wrist and pull him roughly. His body swung round as someone threw him into the nearby brick wall.

"I would advise you not to do that," the man said.

Flack suddenly found himself standing face to face with the man from the other day. The one who stayed outside the SUV, only this time he wasn't wearing his glasses. "I should arrest you for assaulting one of New York's finest."

"I saved your life."

"Bullshit."

The man frowned, letting his hand fall away giving Flack the freedom to move should he choose. "You were planning on paying Sonny a visit, weren't you? Sonny doesn't like cops, especially cops that work with Mac Taylor."

Flack failed to hide his surprise. He wasn't aware that Sonny knew of Mac or that the guy standing before him knew his friend's name. Did that mean they were watching Mac, keeping tabs on him? Was Mac in some sort of trouble? Should he be worried about Stella's safety as well? He wouldn't be able to stand it if he lost his friends at the lab. They had been through so much together. Not to mention that Mac saved his life once after they got caught in an explosion. He could easily have died but Mac's military training kept him alive until they got him to a hospital.

"What do you know about Detective Taylor?"

The guy shrugged. "Sonny has had one too many run-ins with him. Happens."

"You're no better than them so why do you care about my safety? Why not let me get on Sonny's bad side?" Flack felt the need to ask. He knew enough about organized crime that even in small groups like Sonny Sassone's it would be a sign of disrespect for this guy to do things behind his boss' back.

"Because I may work for the man but that doesn't mean I agree with everything he does."

Flack arched in eyebrow in interest. A private conversation with a criminal in an alley wasn't exactly what he had planned but whatever worked. Maybe he could this guy into some sort of snitch, get decent enough dirty to lock up Sonny for good. Permanently. Make sure the bastard never got the chance to ruin another life. But convincing this guy to stab his boss in the back would take more than a simple conversation in an alley. He needed a little more information on this guy, something he could use to his advantage. Maybe make him a promise, give the guy something good in return.

"What's your name?"

The guy's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "None of your business. I think you better just get the hell out of here. Preferably before one of the bodyguards notices you lurking around and the real trouble starts."

"And if I don't?"

"Your friends will be hanging up Missing Persons posters featuring your face."

* * *

He watched as the detective walked back to the sidewalk toward his unmarked patrol car. He may have been working for one of the up and coming criminals of New York but that did not mean he was going to stand idly by while a foolish cop got himself killed. Over what? A fire in a building? By all rights he should not have intervened in any way. Should Sonny find out about what he did…well, he didn't really want to spend too much time dwelling on it. Sonny could be a royal pain in the ass, liked to keep his men in line by threatening them horrible acts of pain. Most of which he followed through on.

"Danny!" one of the bodyguards yelled his name.

He waited a minute, not turning around to acknowledge the brute just yet. He wanted to make sure the detective got out of the area first. Wouldn't do any good to have the fool poking around. "Hey, Messer, get your ass over here!"

Sighing he turned to face the big lug, walking slowly down the sidewalk toward the building. Hands shoved into his pockets he struggled with the desire to look back over his shoulder at the detective. Did not want to draw attention to the one and only Detective Don Flack and stir up trouble. Oh, he new his name. Sonny was obsessed with the people in the crime lab, made sure every goon in his group knew the members by sight and by name. He thought it odd Sonny didn't react when they pulled up at the deli the other day to find the detective leaning against his car. Maybe because attacking the detective would have been too easy. A missed opportunity, though.

Sonny wanted Mac Taylor to suffer.


	8. You Know Me Better

**Chapter eight: You Know Me Better than That**

Flack returned home, shuffling into his silent, lonely apartment. He walked through the dark without hitting any piece of furniture, flicking on a lamp near the sofa. His keys, badge and gun ended up on the coffee table, discarded in favor of his laptop. The guy in the alley may not have wanted to share his name but when the thug with the gun yelled his name, well, Flack heard it all. Danny Messer. He planned on typing the name into the database to see what sort of things he could learn about one Danny Messer. What sort of record did the guy have, anything serious? Was he one of Sonny's top men or stuck on a low rung of the ladder? The more he knew about Danny the better. Maybe he could get an idea about getting close to Sonny.

He wanted the guy rubbed out and not by sticking him in jail.

He wanted Sonny history.

Settled on the couch he was getting ready to fire up his computer when there was a knock on his door. The sudden sound in the otherwise quiet apartment made him jump, nearly knocking the laptop to the floor. Part of him wanted to ignore the knock but after all these years he knew it by heart. Mac had come to pay him a visit. Search temporarily forgotten he put computer back on the table and went to the door. With his hand on the doorknob he froze, glancing back over his shoulder to give his apartment a quick looking over. Nothing looked out of place. Aside from the usual mess nothing about his apartment said he had completely fallen apart. He knew Mac.

Pasting a forced smile to his face Flack opened the door. "Hey Mac." Standing behind and just off to the side of the crime lab leader was none other than Adam. "Adam, what a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you guys?"

"Can we come in?"

"Sure," Flack stepped back allowing them in. He closed the door behind them instantly wishing he'd bothered to turn on at least one other light. Suddenly his apartment seemed all too gloomy, downright depressing. And he could only imagine what sort of things popped into Mac's head at the sight of the mess of dishes in the sink. He really should have gotten around to washing those. Something in the trash was starting to stink, too. "So…"

Mac looked around while Adam was the perfect picture of someone uncomfortable with the current situation. Flack began to suspect that they came by for a specific reason. Not just to check-up on him like good friends. When Mac spotted the police issue pistol resting on the coffee table his gaze lingered. With relief Flack was happy he had not gotten around to popping open the criminal database to search for one Danny Messer. That would have only prompted more questions, the sort he wasn't in the mood to answer. He may have trusted Mac, owed the man his life but there were things he needed to deal with on his own right now. And if Mac had any idea as to what he was up to he would put a stop to it.

"How are you holding up, Flack?" Mac finally asked, turning his eyes back to Flack.

"Fine," he tried to sound normal.

"You know what; I don't feel like beating around the bush. Making small talk is not why I came 'round to see you," Mac stated. "I know that you are aware of Sonny's involvement in the fire that killed Chandler. I know how you think, Don."

Flack crossed his arms over his chest. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't do anything foolish," Adam threw in.

Flack tried to fain surprise. "You guys should know me better than that, do I look like the reckless kind?"

"Flack-"

"I'm fine, Mac, really," he protested dying to get back to his research. "Yeah, I will admit to having had thoughts about having words with Sonny but where would it get me? Nowhere. So why bother? Getting myself in trouble with my superiors isn't going to bring back Chandler."

"I'm glad that you see it that way," Mac responded.

"I'll be fine, guys. I just need a little more time to wallow before moving on."

It seemed like Mac wanted to say something else but decided not to bother. He glanced over his shoulder at Adam, then back at Flack. "Well, if you're sure. You know how to get a hold of me and you can call for anything, Don. Any reason, not matter how trivial it may seem to you. Please."

"Will do."

* * *

Adam didn't speak again until they reached the elevators in Flack's building. He had been feeling somewhat unsure of the whole conversation. He could tell that Flack was lying so surely his boss could tell, too. Nothing got by Mac. But what exactly was Flack up to? What did the detective have planned? The doors to the elevator opened allowing both men to step inside.

As the doors were closing Adam opened his mouth. "You don't believe him, do you?"

"Not even the slightest."

* * *

Flack waited until he was sure they weren't going to be coming back before he locked the apartment door and returned to the comfort of his couch. Once again picking up the laptop he got to work. He felt bad about lying to his friends but they were only going to stop him from doing what he felt needed to be done. Someone had to pay for Chandler's death. All the information they had gathered up to this point focused on Sonny as being the man responsible. He wanted to be the one that brought Sonny down. He wanted to be able to visit Chandler's grave and let his lover know that his murderer was behind bars.

Or worse.

There was only one thing he could not avoid. He had to log into the database in order to start the search. All Mac had to do was check the logins to see what he had been doing. Hopefully he would still have a day or two head start. In the morning he would call his boss and ask for a little more time off. Shouldn't have a problem getting it either. The idea of doing things behind the backs of his friends may not have sat well with him but this was something he had to. Grieving wasn't going to cut it this time. He needed to take action. Logging in he typed 'Daniel Messer' into the provided space and waited while the computer went through the expanse of records.

Less than a minute later the page he'd been seeking popped up. It wasn't exactly what he expected. It appeared as though Danny worked for Sonny but did not have an actual criminal record. He had been fingerprinted in connection with some sort of robbery but none of the evidence pointed back to him. Aside from a few parking tickets and other moving violations there was nothing. By all rights Danny Messer did not fit the profile of someone who would work for Sonny Sassone. So why the hell was he with the crook? What was the story behind Danny Messer?

And how could Flack use him to get what he wanted?


	9. Anything You Can Spare

**Chapter nine: Anything You Can Spare**

Later that evening Danny was minding his own business flipping through a magazine and chewing on a toothpick when someone suddenly sat on the couch beside him. He practically jumped out of his skin, having heard no sound of anyone entering his apartment. When he saw that the person sitting next to him was none other than his boss, Sonny, he nearly choked on the toothpick, spitting it out onto the floor like a slob. He quickly forgot about the magazine but kept it in his hands for some reason.

"I heard you had a conversation earlier today," Sonny spoke his voice calm and even, betraying no emotion. "I don't mind my guys talking with cops as long they keep their mouths shut, you know that right, Danny?"

Danny nodded, afraid that if he should speak he would hear a tremble in his words. Being around Sonny always made him edgy. It was one of the biggest mistakes in his life, getting involved with the likes of Sonny Sassone. But he had always looked up to his brother and when his brother got in good with Sonny he wanted to do the same. Unfortunately for his older brother things went south about a year ago and now he was stuck with Sonny, his brother used as a constant pawn to keep him under control. Somehow he managed to avoid doing anything real horrible, always selected as the one to drive Sonny around the city. He figured it was Sonny's way of keeping an eye on him. If things kept up this way he might be able to live with it but something told him everything was about to change. Sonny was here to ask for a favor. Only Sonny's favors were more like demands that had to be obeyed or a price was paid. A hefty price.

"Imagine how I felt when I learned that the particular detective you were having words with works for Mister Mac Taylor," Sonny had a hint of something in his voice. Malice? Disgust? Danny knew about the bad blood between Mac and Sonny, knew all the horrible things Sonny wanted to do with Mac if he ever managed to get his hands on the dude. Personally, Danny had never met him. He thought once that he might have seen him from a distance but he wasn't so sure. Since he tended to avoid police scrutiny for the most part he hadn't met too many of the boys in blue. He planned on keeping it that way.

"Was he harassing you, Danny?"

"No," this time he spoke, his voice low, almost a whisper. It didn't matter to him how long he worked for Sonny, the man freaked him out. He knew Sonny had something to do with the attack on his older brother even if he hadn't been able to get solid proof. And the cops, they hadn't been of any help. Not a damn lick. What else was new? They never cared about him or his family because of the people he associated with. They probably thought his brother had it coming.

"I got this wonderful idea, Danny," Sonny said, a smile creeping across his face. "Next time you see this lovely detective, and I am going to assume that it is Mac Taylor's pet Don Flack, you strike up a good conversation with him. Get him talking. I want to take Mac down, Danny. I need a bit of inside dirt, something I can use against him."

Danny felt a jolt of pain. He had been hoping to go unnoticed when he grabbed the detective off the sidewalk simply to avoid this conversation. He already had a pretty good idea of where it was going to go and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. But if he refused then Sonny would do something to spur him into action. He swallowed nervously. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just chat with him," Sonny said, standing. "Nothing more than a few friendly chats. Make it look real cozy and nice. I'll have someone with a camera snap a few pictures, make it look like Don Flack is up to no good. Make it look like Taylor's pet is playing both sides. It'll cause a rift between them, get my plan in action. One by one they house of cards falls apart, Danny."

Sonny stepped around behind the couch intent on leaving and Danny was only too happy to see him go. But then he felt a hand on his shoulder and Sonny whispered in his ear. "Don't let me, Danny. I know where your brother got off to and he isn't exactly out of my reach."

Danny felt his heart skip a beat. As quickly as he had come Sonny left, disappearing through the apartment door. Thinking about his brother Danny bunched his hands into fists tearing and crumbling the magazine in the process. Then he stood, walked over to the apartment door and slipped all of the locks into place. He thought he did that when he got home but he must have been mistaken. Unless of course…a shiver ran down his spine as a very unpleasant thought crossed his mind. What if Sonny had a key to his place? A key for each of the three locks? Danny wouldn't put it passed him. Sonny liked keeping tabs on his people. He may not have been part of the big time mafia or something but he ran the Tanglewood Boys with a first of iron and bucket full of threats.

Resting his head against the closed apartment door he wondered what he was going to do. Up until he managed to get away with nothing major, no big mark on his record. He shouldn't even have a record, that is what his momma would tell him. They hadn't spoken since his brother got out of the hospital. She apparently had nothing she wanted to say to him, throwing him out the door and kicking him to the curb. And now, now it looked like he was going to be forced to ruin the career of a detective. Some guy that probably had all these great moments in his life, the kind of record that made a mother proud.

And now he had to help destroy it.

"Fuck," Danny swore as he beat his hand against the apartment door.

* * *

Flack moved restlessly around his apartment unable to sleep as darkness washed over the city. He felt haunted by a number of things. One being the death of Chandler. The other being the words spoken to him in that damned alley. He went from having a perfect life worth being envious of to something else entirely. And now on top of everything he was worried about Mac. Sonny was not a good man, not the type of person one wanted to get on the bad side of. But that is what it was like working in as a cop or anybody else who helped put the bad guys behind bars. They made enemies day in and day out. Apparently even Chandler made a few enemies. Flack refused to think of the death as anything more than accident. Yeah, the fire had been ruled an arson and there was no way anyone would have known Chandler was going to be there but he couldn't help feeling as though Chandler was a target.

"You're crazy, Flack, crazy," he muttered. "A fucking lunatic."

He continued his restless night be cleaning up his messy apartment in an attempt to avoid thinking about matters that brought him down. It didn't help because he kept stumbling across things that reminded him of Chandler. When he found one of Chandler's shirts he just fell onto the couch with the object in his hands. It still smelled like Chandler, that alluring mixture of his body chemistry with his aftershave and the smell of the firehouse. He felt a few tears welling in his eyes. How might things have turned out had they been given a decent chance, he wondered. For all he knew Chandler was the one. The one he was meant to spend the rest of his life with and now it was gone, ruined, torn from him.

"Get a grip," he muttered, throwing the shirt in the direction of his bedroom where the laundry hamper was located.

Suddenly he felt like the walls were closing in on him. Unable to take it anymore he grabbed his keys and walked out the door. Downstairs he climbed into his unmarked patrol car and pulled into the night traffic. At least at night the flow of cars wasn't nearly as bad as it was during the day, though not entirely too much better. With an address in mind he drove through the streets not really focusing. At one point he nearly ran a red light, stomping on his brakes at the last second. He had the comfort of no one being right behind him so he managed to avoid an accident. Just about the time he was thinking it a bad idea to have gotten on the road in the first place he reached his destination, grabbing a spot along the curb.

Entering the building and trudging up the stairs he began to think this was all some big mistake on his part. He shouldn't have acted so quickly. He should have called a head first. What if he got turned away? As though moving on autopilot he knocked upon the door of his intended goal and waited, chewing his bottom lip, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. This was wrong, a bad idea. He was about ready to leave when he heard the lock being undone. Then the door opened.

"Flack, it's the middle of the night," Hawkes said, rubbing a bit of sleep from his eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"I need a place to crash," Flack said, smiling sheepishly. "I can't stay there. I can't-"

Hawkes took a step back inviting him in. "Say no more, buddy, you can crash on my couch."


	10. Is It Already Time?

**Chapter ten: Is It Already Time?**

When the next morning dawned Flack felt a heaviness in his heart that he thought he managed to shake a day or so ago. Today was the day he had been dreading for a long time, the day he wanted to miss. It was the kind of day that shouldn't have existed but all around the world there were others experiencing the same events, the same burning pain that refused to go away. He lay on Hawkes' couch unwilling to acknowledge the dawning of the new day. Perhaps if he pretended he was asleep Hawkes would quietly leave the apartment. Once he was sure the investigator was long gone he could hightail it out of the apartment and find something to keep him occupied through the day. With his phone off the others would never be able to find him, be unable to locate him.

No one would be able to pester him all day.

And it looked like his plan might actually work. He heard Sheldon getting ready to leave his bedroom so he rolled onto his side, facing the back of the couch. Pulling the blanket up a little higher he closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. For roughly fifteen minutes he pretended to be deep asleep, dead to the world while Hawkes made breakfast, grabbed the rest of his gear and headed out the door. As the door closed Flack opened his eyes. He could see the little rays of sunlight streaming through the curtains covering the windows. It always seemed wrong to him when the sun shone on such depressing days. Why couldn't the world share in his misery?

Sighing, he rolled onto his back, then sat up on the couch. Rubbing a hand over his eyes and through his hair he got up. A quick trip to the bathroom and he would leave. He was half-way to the bathroom when he heard the sound of a key in the lock. Flack froze unsure of what to do. Dashing back to the couch he might be able to get the blanket thrown over him and close his eyes before whoever was on the other side opened the door. But it would be calling it close. He took a step in the direction of the couch. The door swung open and there stood Mac.

"Oh, good, you're up," he said upon spotting Flack. Quietly he entered the apartment, the door closing softly behind him. "We've got to get you back to your place, get you dressed."

Flack immediately shook his head. "No. I'm not doing it, Mac. I have other things to tend to."

"He doesn't deserve this attitude, Don," Mac said his brow creasing as he frowned. "He didn't ask for this anymore than you did. Don't throw him out of your life like he never existed. What about your love for each other? Is this how you would have wanted him to act?"

Flack looked away feeling ashamed. He knew it was wrong of him to refuse going but the pain, oh the pain, being there with all those people knowing how much Chandler meant to each of them. He didn't want to see their tears, their pain. He did not want to hear their happy memories. All of it would only serve to remind him of what he had lost and he knew all too well how much he had indeed lost. So lost in his thoughts he hadn't noticed Mac walk across the floor, closing the distance between them.

"I won't leave your side," Mac said softly. "But you have to do this, Flack. You need the closure."

"Is there really ever closure?" his voice croaked.

"When you move beyond the pain, when you can finally say goodbye," Mac soothed, "then yes, there is a certain amount of closure. You will never forget Chandler. No one will expect that of you but you can learn to live your life again. It is possible. I should know, I went through the same thing when Claire died."

His shoulders slumped as he felt deflated. "All right. I'll go."

* * *

Flack felt a stirring of something similar to trepidation as he stood outside the church. There were so many cars, people streaming in to hear the service. Parked along the sidewalk were emergency vehicles; an ambulance, a few cop cars, two firetrucks. He noticed a flag at a nearby building flying at half-staff and it broke his heart all over again. Maybe he had been so clouded by his own pain that he failed to realize that others in the city did indeed mourn the loss of the firefighters. Heroes who gave their lives in the course of doing their jobs. Steeling his spine he started up the steps, Mac always right by his side as he assured. Somehow he managed to get through seeing Chandler's parents again, his younger brother. There were hugs and as he embraced Chandler's mom he flashed back to images of Angel's funeral, the hurt bubbling to the surface and forcing tears to spill from his eyes.

Too many of the people he cared for died young.

He exchanged a few words with Chandler's firefighter buddies, then took a seat in the front row with Chandler's family. Had things gone right, had they been allowed to run their course he might have very well been part of Chandler's family. Now he would never know. All that remained were memories and what if's.

As the priest stood in front of the congregation of mourners Mac reached over and took hold of his hand giving it a firm squeeze.

* * *

Flack kept a reasonable distance while at the graveyard. He was starting to feel tired, emotionally exhausted and all too ready for the day to be over. He hated funerals. Loathed them. He couldn't think of a single reason why anyone would enjoy them. Picking his chosen career he should have been ready for losing friends. Cops, firefighers, even the paramedics and the crime scene investigators all put their lives on the line just by waking up in the morning and going to work. A gun pointed in the wrong direction. A raging fire. A deadly infection. A gaseous chemical. So many things waited to claim a life.

He stood there, shoulders hunched, thinking how cruel that the sun shimmered in the blue clear sky. They ceremony was winding down when Flack thought he saw someone duck behind one of the nearby monuments. When he looked there was no one there. He shook his head, attributed it to the stress of the day. In a few more minutes he would be able to leave, get in the car and drive until he left the city behind. The idea teased him with the prospect of escaping the pain, of finding something better waiting near the horizon. He watched, transfixed, as they began to lower the coffin into the ground. A single tear slid down his cheek. Mac put a hand on his shoulder. The cemetery. He shouldn't have been in the cemetery. He should have been having lunch with Chandler, laughing, making plans for the weekend.

Torn he barely remained standing as the ceremony ended. He didn't remember Mac walking him to the car. Or even most of the drive back to his apartment. The grief and pain of loss hit him full force as he watched that coffin slowly lower into the ground. Up until that point a small piece of him continued to hope it was some sort of horrible dream or that they had got it wrong, that they misidentified the body. Now that he had been to funeral it was all too real, too fresh, undeniable. The man he loved was gone, forever out of his reach.

And he wasn't sure he was ever going to feel alive again.


	11. You're Right, I'm Wrong

**Chapter eleven: You're Right, I'm Wrong**

A day later Flack was off-duty and hanging out at one of his favorite cafes. The place had a small patio with a few outside tables and despite the crisp air he insisted upon sitting outside. It got him away from the noise of the interior though it stuck him out on the street with the cars and the hordes of people on the sidewalks. Not that it mattered to him. He sipped his coffee trying to put together a plan to get him through the next few days. Mac told him to take it one day at a time, that before he knew it life would return to some semblance of normal and the pain would ease. But how could the pain ease when he knew that some son of a bitch murdered Chandler? Someone purposely set fire to that building. And what the hell compelled Chandler to work that day? Other than the simple fact that he loved his job and was a good man. He had read the reports of the fire time and time again. Perhaps it was time he put them away because each time he ended up in a fresh puddle of tears followed by an overwhelming sense to ring someone's neck. A particular someone.

He had to find a way to have a few words with Sonny Sassone without the thug's bodyguards lurking around. But how? If he could rig up a false charge, bring Sonny in for questioning he would definitely get him alone. Unless Sonny asked for a lawyer. Or Mac understood what he was doing and stepped in. Of course, he wasn't exactly in the mood to follow the rules when he got around to asking Sonny certain questions about the fire. The desire to punch the man was so strong that Flack gripped his coffee cup a bit too tightly. When he noticed his knuckles turning white he loosened his hold afraid he might break the cup.

Anger threatened to consume him. How would Chandler react?

He shook his head, closing his eyes momentarily. When he opened them he startled to find Danny sitting across from him. The member of Sonny's crew looked a little worse for wear, an ugly bruise around his right eye. The hues of purple and red told Flack it was a recent acquirement and had not had any time to heal. The importance of bruise colors, one of the things he picked up from his friends at the lab. He wasn't sure what to say but felt a little awkward as he noticed that the bruise did not take away from Danny's attractiveness. Something about the crook…Some might say the allure was the whole bad boy angle. Lassiter wasn't entirely sure of that, at least, he hoped he wasn't falling for a bad guy. Of course not, he had just lost someone very important to him and he was trying to fill a void. He was not feeling a thing toward Danny Messer.

"Why are you here?" he finally asked, before taking a sip of his coffee.

"To talk with you," Danny responded.

For some reason that amused Flack. "Aren't you worried what good ole Sonny is going to say when he sees you sitting here with me?"

"No," Danny shook his head for added emphasis. "In fact, he's the reason I am here."

Suddenly remembering the things told to him about Sonny and what he read in the guy's file he began to feel a bit worried. Danny had said in the alley during their first official meeting that Sonny wanted to screw with Mac, to bring him down, make his life a living hell. And Flack knew there was no better way to get to Mac than by hurting his friends. He felt the same way. Suddenly he wanted to be as far away from Danny as possible. The weight of his holstered firearm did not bring much comfort. There were too many civilians wandering around, too many people that could be hurt. A few cars drove by slowly in the typical New York traffic. A dark colored van and navy blue SUV were parked along the curb on the opposite side of the street. Was Sonny sitting inside one of them observing him?

Flack sat back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest, scrutinizing the young man. "Sonny's lackey. What message does he have now?"

"Nothing," Danny replied as his eyes darted around the landscape reminding Flack of a terrified animal. Then he leaned a bit across the table. "Listen, I know you have all these preconceived ideas about me and I probably can't change them. However, I wanted to warn you here and now that Sonny is going to make trouble. He sent me here because he wants me to become your best friend."

"Why?"

Danny was clearly nervous. "In an attempt to make you look dirty, ruin your career. And that's just the beginning."

Could Danny be trusted? Why tell him about Sonny's plans? Could it be a ploy to get in good with him and therefore make them friends? He wasn't sure he wanted to believe what he was hearing. It seemed all too easy that the one person he should get to know by name in Sonny's group would actually want to work against his boss. Either he was being given a chance to take down the man who hurt him the most or he was going to end up in a great deal of trouble. What bothered him more than anything was the detective in him wanted desperately to believe Danny. His body language spoke volumes. But he could not ignore all his years on the force. People got good at lying when they did it all the time.

"And I should believe you, why?"

"I'm not like Sonny," answered Danny, pulling back a bit. "There are things…" He shook his head. "You wouldn't understand. And you don't want to hear it."

Without missing a beat, without really thinking of it the words poured out of his mouth. "Try me, you'd be surprised."

Danny looked at him wearily. "My problems are not yours."

"They are if it means losing my career," Flack shot back. "I have no reason to trust you. Give me one."

Danny appeared reluctant to answer, casting his eyes toward the table. Maybe he was trying to formulate some sort of lie and wanted to make sure it sounded convincing. Instantly Flack regretted having let himself be baited by the crook. He should have known that anyone working with Sonny couldn't be good. Good people didn't run around with wannabe mobsters. Flack began to feel the familiar stirrings of anger deep in his gut. They had been boiling to the surface a lot since Chandler's death, probably another reason his boss kept telling him to take a little more time off. Angry detectives only caused more problems in the long run. Finally he could not take it any longer.

"What the fuck were you doing at Chandler's funeral?" The anger in his voice caught Danny by surprise.

"I…" he faltered. Before speaking again he gave the nearby crowd another thorough looking over, then leaned forward slightly. In a hushed tone he brought Flack's world to a halt. "I wanted to see…to pay my respects. Sonny started the fire. Sonny killed those firefighters."

"Tell me something I don't know," he barely got the words out, his anger growing.

"I can get proof."


	12. I Will Be There

A/N: Not only am I sorry for the belated update but I also want to apologize for an mistakes in my story up to this point. If I can find the time I will go back and fix them. And I will try harder in the future to not let them get by me!

**

* * *

Chapter Twelve: I Will Be There  
**

Hot water flowed down over his body in small rivers. It dripped from the tip of his nose, matted down his hair. Washed away the scum of the day. He may have loved living in New York City but sometimes he felt grimy upon returning home. He was never sure if he should blame it on the crooks he hunted down every day or the constant stream of exhaust that seemed to linger in the air. Whatever it was he thoroughly enjoyed a nice warm shower to make him feel human again. And as he began to wash the shampoo out of his hair he found his mind wandering in a dangerous direction. Instead of thinking about the last morning he spent with Chandler he quickly turned up the temperature of the water until it burned, his skin turning red. Then he twisted the knob in the other direction gritting his teeth as the stream of chilly water soothed away the heat. Finally finished he stepped out of the shower, grabbing at the towel he left on the counter.

Standing before the mirror he tried not to stare too hard at the tired cloud looming in his eyes. Usually his blue eyes were vivid and filled with a burning light. Ever since the death of his lover, though, he noticed that the appeared dimmer, a little bit on the dull side. Sighing, he ran a hand through the slight covering of condensation on the mirror causing his reflection to be a tad distorted. A sad smile spread across his face as he thought back to those happier days. The magic of the mirror in the bathroom, who would have thought it would bring back such memories of happiness and thus a wave of pain? They used to leave messages written on the mirror for the other to find after a shower. Another one of the ways they let each other know how they felt every day.

"Get a grip, Don," he muttered under his breath as he began to dress. "Life goes on, don't you know that? If you can survive after losing Aidan and Angel then you can most definitely get beyond this, too." _You weren't madly in love with them,_ he kept the unspoken thought to himself. Tossing the towel into the hamper he wandered into the bedroom without a stitch of clothing on, feeling a breeze from the open window. At least he took the time to put up curtains unlike a number of people in the city. Apparently they thought living in a high-rise kept out prying eyes. How many times had he entered an apartment only to find a telescope situated in front of a window? With the lights in the city he knew for a fact that nobody was gazing at the stars.

Still not allowed back at work for at least another day he put on a pair of boxers, gray sweatpants and a random t-shirt he grabbed from the drawer. From there he shuffled into the living room and flopped down on the couch flipping on the television for lack of anything better to do. While the day-time show played out he let his mind wander to other places. Try as he might he could not help thinking about Danny and his conversation with the gangster. What sort of angle was the guy working? Should he really put his trust in a guy that chose to hang out with someone like Sonny Sassone? He might very well be on the verge of ruining his career and helping in the process. Ever since the meeting the day before he had been thinking himself 'round in circles.

So what if Danny came clean to him about the plan Sonny cooked up, for all he knew it was part of Danny's way to get in close, start looking for whatever dirt he could use. Flack thought about his career. For the most part it was stellar, though there might be one or two things to give the right person a second glance, cause them to look a little dirty. At least he wasn't one of those cops that could be bought off with a bribe. He didn't mistakenly lose evidence. In fact, he always thought his good working relationship with the crime lab was a gleaming spot of brilliance on his record. It showed those higher up that he was capable of working well with others. He knew way too many cops that liked to work with cops and avoided getting involved with scientist or investigators from other departments.

"Going to drive yourself crazy," he muttered under his breath feeling slightly angry.

Despite his initial reservations he agreed to meet with Danny again. He checked his watch, expecting a call any time now. Once he got the phone call they would decide on the best venue for their private meeting. Danny promised to have the proof needed to place the guilt of the fire and the deaths of the firefighters in Sonny's hands. Flack tried not to get his hopes up too much, it could all be circumstantial and nothing more. Still, it bared looking into, especially since Danny was coming to him. Suddenly a thought came to Flack and he plucked his cell phone from where it rested on the coffee table. He should really let someone know what he was planning on doing. Maybe call Mac and give the guy a head's up, let him know where he was going, who he was meeting with. What if something should happen to him? What if this was all some sort of trap and Sonny was going to shoot him in the head the first chance he got?

Flack put the phone back on the coffee table.

No, his gut told him to go with this, to trust in Danny much the way he trusted the others, the way he used to trust Chandler. He couldn't quite put his finger on it but something about Danny made him believable.

His phone rang. He jumped at the sudden sound. Had he called Mac he would have missed the important call. Grabbing his phone he nearly dropped it in his haste to answer before his voice-mail beat him to it. "Hello?" Did he sound too eager?

"Meet me at the Irish pub two blocks over from the precinct," Danny said.

"Are you sure?" Flack wondered why Danny would choose such a spot. There might be a few cops lurking around, a few of Irish descent who wanted to get drunk and chat about their ancestors who ran around with the likes of actual mobsters.

"I'll be there."

The phone went dead.

* * *

Four hours later the sun began to disappear beyond the horizon, or at least that's how he liked to think of seeing as he couldn't actually see the horizon. One of these days he was going to get out of the city for a while, enjoy the beauty of the world around him. Maybe sit under a tree, inhale a breeze full of natural smells, sip a cool glass of lemonade, watch the sun set. One of these days. He checked his watch for the umpteenth time wondering where Danny had gotten off to. They should have been done with their meeting by now and working on step two of the plan, whatever that might be.

Instead it looked as though Danny might have stood him up. He should have known better, shouldn't have expected anything else. Slightly ticked off he slapped a few bucks on the counter and wandered toward the door. As he stepped out onto the sidewalk he heard the cry of sirens off in the distance. Figured. Wouldn't it be a wonder if they made it through the day without a single emergency call, without a single speck of blood shed? What the hell was the world coming to that violence was the way everyone wanted to solve their problems? He used to joke with Chandler that modern conveniences were to blame. Murder wasn't as big an issue back in the age of pioneers when neighbors actually spoke to each other, when an entire town relied on each individual. Everyone knew everyone.

Nowadays he knew people kept to themselves. The world was falling apart. Even good Samaritans ran the risk of being sued.

"What a wonderful world," he mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. At some point while he was inside having a few drinks a nasty wind had descended upon the city. It whipped trash up and down the sidewalks, brought a bit of chill with it. The closer he drew to home the more ill at ease he grew. He kept thinking back to the brief call, the conversation outside the cafe. Something in the way Danny spoke made Flack desperatly want to believe him. Danny meant to show-up at the bar. He knew deep in his heart that he wasn't being played a fool, though should he attempt to explain his reasoning to someone else the might not get it. Hell, he spent so much of his time around Mac he knew that it was always better to listen to the evidence over gut instinct. And yet...

Something had to have happened to Danny, that was the only plausible excuse he could think of. Sonny must have caught on to what Danny was up to, must have figured out that his plan wasn't going to work.

"Fuck," Flack swore as he realized how much trouble Danny would be in. And what did he really care? He hardly knew a damn thing about the guy. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket as he thought about the flash of trouble he saw in Danny's eyes while discussing Sonny's plans. There was more to it, something he didn't quite understand yet. He hit speed-dial, hoping for the person on the other end to pick-up.

He heaved a sigh of relief when he heard the all too familiar voice on the other end. "I need help," he said.


	13. Shattered Glass

A/N: Bouts of writer's block....pure evil. I don't believe this chapter to be that great so I apologize for that!

**

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Shattered Glass  
**

With the impatiences of an expecting father Flack passed back and forth. He wondered how much longer before he wore a path in the grass. Every few seconds he checked his watch always amazed to find that time wasn't moving as fast as it felt. In five minutes he felt like an hour of his life had gone by. How the hell did that make sense? Aggravated he grunted, shoving his hands into his pockets. A few of the people in this particular part of the park gave him a wide berth accompanied by curious yet wary stares. He must have looked a fright, perhaps like one of the many drunken crazies he usually saw being hauled into the precinct. He needed to take a chill pill. Getting worked up wasn't going to make things better. But ever since Danny failed to show up at their meeting he had been a bundle of nerves. He felt the strong need to do something, anything. For all his attempts he could not shake the feeling that something awful was going to happen. Something that was going to make him realize how much he had already lost.

And what did he care if the wanna-be gangster got himself hurt? Why should he spend so much time dwelling on the well-being of someone who could have been witness to horrific crimes?

Questions that ran repeatedly through his mind leaving him without a second of rest. He was about to run off, get in his car and drive back to the only address he had for Sonny. Thankfully he spotted the person he had been waiting for and felt a slight burst of relief, though it was gone in the blink of an eye. What if he poured at his thoughts, bared his problems to the one person he thought he could trust only to find himself standing all alone? What if they turned away, refused to give him a helping hand? What if they decided he was losing his mind- which he might very well be- and decided to tell his captain? He felt a heavy weight settling in the bit of his stomach. The flutter of nervous butterfly wings quickly joined it. For a fleeting moment he wondered if he might be sick. Worry did that to a person sometimes, the anxiety reaching a point where it got harder to handle.

"Don, you sounded worried on the phone," Mac said as he drew within distance. "And now that I see you in person I can tell that something is wrong. What's up?"

To tell him or to keep it a secret? If he did things on his own, went hunting in the lion's den for Danny everything could end swiftly. His face would most assuredly be plastered on posters and shown on the evening news. His friends would be left to wonder what truly happened to him. Had it been an accident? Had Chandler's death been too much for him to handle and he finally fell off the deep end? Danny told him how much Sonny desired to hurt Mac. He heard the same thing from Mac. But if he involved Mac then it upped the stakes. One mistake was all it would take to end both of their careers or their lives. Did he want to risk the safety of his friend? Did he want to be the one responsible for leaving Stella a widow? Leaving Adam and Hawks and Lindsay and Aidan without their friend and mentor?

"Flack?" Mac's voice broke through his fog of thoughts as he felt his friend place a hand on his arm. "Maybe you should sit, you don't look so good."

"There isn't time," he blurted.

Mac frowned. "Would you please just tell me what is going on? I had to call in Adam to help Aidan and Stella at a scene. You know I'm not entirely comfortable with having him in the field. I'm sorry to say this, Flack, but if you're going to waste my time-"

"He's missing."

"Who?"

"Danny."

Mac was doing his best not to look annoyed but Flack caught the flicker of emotion in his eyes. "Who is Danny and are you sure he's missing?"

Before he lost his courage Flack began to spill his guts. He told Mac about his attempt to have a word with Sonny and everything up until the morning with Danny that hadn't gone exactly as planned. In opening up he felt much better, as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. It felt amazing to confess his worries and voices his concerns to a friend. Still, he watched Mac like a hawk to gauge his reaction to the whole mess. Not one emotion passed over Mac's face making Flack believe that he would be a good poker player. When he ended his story he found himself nervous once again. Up until this point Mac had kept his mouth shut. Now the truth was going to come out. Now he would know whether or not Mac was on his side.

"And you're sure he wouldn't just stand you up?" were the first words Mac said.

Flack shook his head. "I know it all sounds crazy but I can't help feeling that he's stuck, Mac. Mired in a situation he can't break free of. You didn't see the fear in his eyes when he talked about Sonny, hear the tone of his voice...Something's happened."

"I'm not sure where to do with this, Flack. I want to help any way that I can but where do we start? Aside from running by his apartment I don't think there is much else we can do."

A crazy thought crossed his mind. "Talk to Sonny."

"Absolutely not," Mac said with an edge of anger in his voice. "Neither of us will do any such thing. For one thing, if he has done something to Danny our poking around could make matters worse. And for another, he's just waiting to sink his claws into me. If I walk onto his turf he can gun me down and claim self defense. Any number of scenarios can play out."

"We have to do something." Flack was beginning to feel somewhat desperate. Then he realized that he had left out one subtle but very important detail. The ace up his sleeve. His bombshell. "He knows that Sonny set fire to that apartment building, Mac. He has proof that Sonny killed Chandler and the other firefighters."

"Are you sure?"

"That's what he was going to bring me today."

Mac went silent as he seemed to be thinking things over. It took all of Flack's effort to stay rooted in one place. He wanted to yell that now was not the time for thinking but the time for action. Yelling at Mack would have been rude and completely uncalled for. Let the man think, he might actually come up with a good plan. The almost serene beauty of the park was shattered by the squeal of a car alarm. It drew his attention away from Mac. So focused on his worry for Danny it took him a minute or two to realize that the car alarm was his, the alarm installed in the unmarked police cruiser he drove around the city. Without hesitating he tore off across the park. Mac yelled his name. He ignored his friend and colleague dead set on finding out what the hell was going on. Had some punk thought it funny to break-in to a police cruiser? How many times had he heard horror stories of stolen patrol cars? Then another horrorfying thought crossed his mind.

His heart leaped into his throat.

His badge and gun were still in the cover. One hidden in the glove compartment, the other under the driver's seat.

As he neared the parking lot the shrill noise grew louder. It was annoying, attracting attention even on the busy sidewalks of New York. Not slowing he fumbled to pull the keys out of his pocket and hit the button to silence the damn alarm. The sudden silence was almost as jarring as hearing the alarm to begin with. He slowed his pace as he neared the car, dropping to a walk as he reached the front bumper. Before he had time to inspect the damage Mac grabbed him by the arm.

"Don't touch anything, just stay here."

Pulling a latex glove from his pocket Mac began to search the perimeter of the car. Flack heard the crunch of shattered glass and winced. Someone had broken the back driver's side window. Mac tried the handle of the driver's door and it pulled freely open. He eyed Flack as if to ask if the car had been locked. He told Mac it had, that he remembered locking the doors.

"There's blood mixed in with the glass."

"Mac..."

"I don't see anything evident. Nothing seems to have been left. No one tried to tamper with the dashboard," Mac spoke half muttering to himself.

"My gun, Mac. It's under the front seat."

A second later Mac flashed him a grim expression. "Well, it was."


	14. Promises

**Chapter Fourteen: Promises**

He whistled while he took the pictures. The silence of the secluded crime scene was enough to make anyone feel nervous, antsy, especially with one look at the body. The camera flash lit up the dark shadows of the room. Another picture. He tried not to think too hard about how loud it must have been when the murder was going down. The screams of the victim vibrating off the brick walls. Stepping around a splattering of blood he snapped another picture. These were scenes that he should have grown used to by now but still, he was happy to have skipped lunch. He figured that no matter how many times he walked into a crime scene he would always feel that slight bout of nausea at seeing what used to be a living, breathing human being now nothing more than a shell. At least bodies were nothing new to him. He knew how to deal with a body. Used to be that by the time a body reached him the violence was whittled down to nothing more than a few wounds, maybe some bruises and scratches.

"Hey Hawkes," Aidan's voice broke through his thoughts causing him to jump about six feet. So deep in his mind and focused on his work he had not heard the sound of her shoes as she approached. At the sight of him startled she giggled. "Bit jumpy today, huh?"

He watched as she walked into the room, crime kit in hand, giving the place a cursory looking over. Hawkes could tell by the look on her face that she having the same thoughts that crossed his mind when he first showed up. This was going to be one of those crimes scenes that sucked up the rest of their day, probably forced them work into the evening hours, maybe even over night. They had a lot to document, a lot of potential evidence to collect.

"This place is kind of creepy," he remarked.

"Definitely," Aidan confirmed as she settled her kit near his. "Where do you want me to start?"

He shrugged. "Beats the hell out of me. Pick an option. You can dust for prints, collect blood swabs. Find the missing piece of the victim..."

This time he tried not to smile as she shuddered. "Dismemberment. Why do some of them have to pick that as their means? Don't they realize the mess they're leaving behind for us?"

"Think of the vital clues this blood might have covered up."

"How about not."

He smiled, happy to finally have some company. At least there was a small consolation prize, the corner's assistance had already been by to get the body. He had enjoyed their presence for the short time they were there, somewhat dismayed when they left him alone in the bloody room. Sure he could hear the occasional squawk from the radio of the patrol officer standing in the hall but it just wasn't the same. With only one way in and out of the room he felt trapped in a bloodied box. Without another word the two of them got down to work.

* * *

Hours later they were still at work when Adam walked into the room. Up until actually entering the room they could hear him out in the hall singing just loud enough to be heard. The words to the song died on his lips as he walked into the room, saw the degree of horror. A visible shudder ran through his body. To see the lab tech at the crime scene was a bad sign. It meant that Stella was still working her current case and that Mac had his hands full with Flack. Hawkes frowned, not liking the idea that Flack was starting to be a problem. He understood completely what Flack was going through. He had lost his sister. But if Flack was so far out of it that he needed to have Mac keeping an eye on him, well, there was no wondering what he might do.

That worried Hawkes.

It worried all of them.

"Mac still busy?" Aidan seemed to be reading his mind, directing the question at Adam.

"Yeah. He called Stella, told her to send me here," he continued to look around the room. "What a mess."

Hawkes did not want to discuss the case. "Has anyone talked with Flack, I mean, actually seen him in person and checked to see how he is fairing?"

Both Adam and Aidan shook their heads.

"Some friends we are," Hawkes grumbled suddenly feeling bad.

Aidan stuck another swab into her crime kit. "He hasn't exactly made himself readily available, Hawkes."

"The man is grieving," Adam chimed in, starting to get to work.

Hawkes put down his camera. "We should still make an effort. We're his friends, we're supposed to be there for him. Mac shouldn't have to shoulder all of this by himself." He shook his head, eyeballing the growing pile of evidence. "You know, I'm going to take some of this out to the vehicle. Gives us less to carry when we can finally break free of this place."

"Let's hope it's sooner rather than later," grumbled Aidan, taking a swab of some dark liquid in a corner.

Gathering up some of the brown bags with the red tape sealing them he headed down the hall. He passed the officer who was leaning back against the wall, eyes half closed. Some guard he was being, Hawkes though as he neared the doorway. Outside he could the sounds of the city in the near distance. The familiar sounds brought a sense of comfort that was cruelly torn away when entering the murder room, as he had begun to think of it. Stepping out the door he took a moment to inhale the dusk air, catching a whiff of oil and car exhaust mixed in with the aroma of mildew and stagnant water. Not exactly the most pleasant smell but definitely better than the room; which stank of blood and other bodily fluids. Who the hell built a room without windows?

Resuming his walk he made it to the nearest vehicle and popped open the back. He began to place the evidence inside, careful to push it all the way up against the back seat so as to fit as much as possible inside. He then threw a blanket over the bags to keep them out of sight. Despite the alarm on the vehicle he wasn't comfortable leaving the evidence bags in plain sight. There were people dumb enough to break into police cars. He had seen it with his own two eyes. He closed the trunk and was about to head back toward the building when he heard the scrape of a shoe on blacktop. He froze, his hand instantly going to the gun on his hip.

A figured stumbled out of the alley and before he could react the person bumped into him. His heart was beating fast, frantic as in that split second a waterfall of terrible thoughts crossed his mind. He quickly pulled away from the shadow waiting to feel any pain on his body to suggest he had been harmed. Instead he felt the pain in a place he never imagined. He took in the sight before his eyes, a single word escaping from between his lips.

"Flack."

"Don't tell anyone you saw me here, please," Flack pleaded with him, his voice a mix of fear and worry.

Hawkes wasn't sure what to do. He knew that keeping something like this from Mac would get him in trouble, especially considering the current state of mind the detective occupied. Then again, had he not just been telling the others that they should be there for Flack when he needed them? Isn't that what friends did? And surely there was a logical explanation for the way Flack looked. It could be nearly as bad as his mind wanted him to believe.

"Please," Flack was starting to sound frantic.

Against his better judgment he agreed. "I won't say a word."

"Thank you," Flack said. "I owe you one."

And then he was gone into the shadows. Hawkes shivered as a chill passed down his spine. What the hell had he just done? Why would he make such a promise? He stared off into the darkness thinking about the consequences of his actions. Thinking about the blood on the detective's clothes.


	15. Avalanche

**Chapter Fifteen: Avalanche**

Flack paced his apartment like a caged beast. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and he couldn't keep track of them. Just when he thought he managed to get one pinned down it would slip through his grasp. So much had happened in the few hours since he found his patrol car broken into. So much that he wasn't sure what he imagined and what was real. The two worlds seemed to be bleeding together in a way that greatly shook him up. How much long was he going to be able to do this before he completely fell apart? He went from a perfectly happy life with friends and family and a man he loved to having lost so much. Though his friends would be there for him in a heartbeat he did not feel as though he could trust them at the moment. Not even Hawkes, who gave his word. And the man he loved had been gone for days now, more days than he cared to acknowledge. As if that wasn't bad enough there was the issue of the body in that house.

_Murderer._

The word rang through his head gaining ground with each turn of his track. For a while he kept his arms crossed but slowly he began to mutter to himself, moving his hands around. To the untrained he may have looked like a complete loon, a man finally snapping under the pressure. Truth be told, he was starting to feel that way. Why had he allowed himself to be dragged into the world of Sonny Sassone? He should have known better, should have listened to Mac. Now it may very well be too late to save him from his troubles.

_Murderer._

He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes scrunched shut, hands going to the sides of his head. No. He would not think about it. Would not even let the word get a foothold. He pushed it back, buried it beneath memories of Chandler. Those blessed memories that threatened to tear his world asunder. It was because of his love for Chandler that he was in this current predicament. No. He was not going to place all the blame on falling in love. He was not going to lay the blame at the feet of a dead man. Chandler had merely been doing his job. Wrong place. Wrong time.

_Murderer._

A tear slipped down his cheek as he fell to his knees. No. It was not possible. He had not done it. He refused to believe that he was responsible. He was a cop, a good man. The tears began to streak down his cheeks as he fell his world slowly starting to fall apart. Whatever had been holding the fragile pieces together finally broke, gave away, and there was no stopping it. No more pretending that he was okay while on the inside he felt dead. No more trying to find a man he barely knew but felt he loved as deeply as Chandler. No. He would never love anyone the way he loved Chandler. There would never be another Chandler. Not a single soul could take his place.

_Murderer._

"Shut up," he grumbled under his breath. What happened in that place, in that time, that body, none of it was his fault. No matter what they said to him, he knew deep in his heart that he had not done it. Right? He wasn't capable of committing murder. It would be a lie, a lie to himself and the others if he refused to admit that he once thought about it. That he often thought about. There were just those times when he came across certain criminals that definitely deserved to be dead. Only to have them end up spending years in jail at the expanse of tax-payers. No. Murder was not the answer. He became a cop because he knew right from wrong, because he wanted to help make a difference in the world. He loved his job.

_Murderer._

"Stop," he was on the verge of yelling. At who? At himself? Had he finally lost his mind, gone 'round the bend? He kept expecting there to be a knock at the door. It was only a matter of time before they came knocking at his door and hauled him in for questioning. They were good at what they did, always so good at finding the hardest to discover evidence. What would go through their minds when their computers and other high tech equipment told them something they did not want to know? The sort of information they never wanted to see. How would Mac see him then, in a new light, no longer the man he thought he knew? No. He wasn't going to dwell on what would happen in the future. The more he thought about it the more it began to consume him. He had to do something. Sitting in his apartment wasn't going to get the job done.

But what could he do? How could he make it right? What he needed was someone he could trust with all of his secrets, someone he could open up to. Someone that would understand his confusion over how he felt for Danny. How could he profess to love someone he barely knew? Would Chandler think him completely crazy? He needed to talk about his grief, the sudden burning desire to run away. He wanted to scream, to do something drastic to get the attention of the people around him.

He realized that if he kept listening to his thoughts he was indeed going to go crazy. He could not think straight. Nothing made sense.

_Murderer._

"No!" he yelled, throwing his head back, his eyes gazing at the ceiling. "I didn't kill him. I wouldn't...I..."

He felt a burning in his side, closing his eyes as he clenched his teeth.

"I didn't kill him."

But he had pulled the trigger...


	16. Fallen

**Chapter Sixteen: Fallen  
**

Hawkes had a hard time sleeping that night. He could not, no matter how much he tried, get the image of a bloody Flack out of his mind. Finding the detective so close to the terrible crime scene with blood on his clues made his mind jump to conclusions. He absolutely refused to believe that Flack, a man he had known for years now, would be capable of the carnage hidden in that back room. Though he would easily admit to those close at heart that Flack had not exactly been himself since the death of Chandler- and who could blame him?- he still could not see Flack doing...that, whatever one wanted to call the mess in that room. Flack just was not that kind of person.

And he did his best to drill that piece of information into his head.

Yes, he had had glimpses of Flack's anger over the years. They all carried a certain amount of anger. Every one did, especially in their line of work when all it took was one mistake or a small piece of missing evidence to set a killer free. But anger had not created the scene in that room, not in his mind. He figured it had more to do with enjoyment. At some point the anger would dissipate and the fun would disappear as well, unless the person hacking up the body got a real joy out of sawing limbs.

Of course, none of it mattered. Not when he looked at the piece of paper he held in his hands. His shaking hands. Hawkes looked around the room to make sure that nobody was reading over his shoulder or judging his reaction. He must have done something wrong. It did not matter to him in the least that he had left the morgue a few years ago to become an official crime scene investigator. He still made mistakes. They were all capable of making mistakes. And that is just what he did. Right? The answers on the paper were wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong.

He was thinking of running the test again when Adam came into the room with an unreadable expression on his face. "Um, Hawkes, can I talk to you about something, in confidence?"

"Sure, what's up?" Hawkes looked forward to putting the test results out of his mind for a few minutes. It might buy him time to think of an idea on how to deal with them.

Adam looked around the room like a man with a huge secret. When he saw that they were alone he crept closer, then handed Hawkes a piece of paper. "I think we have a problem."

A quick glance and Hawkes felt his heart plummet. "Yeah, we do." He put a hand on Adam's arm. "Come on, we need to talk with Mac about this, he'll know what to do."

"But is that really a wise idea?" asked a wide-eyed Adam. "Once Mac knows..."

"Do you have another option?"

After thinking about it for a minute Adam shook his head. "No."

"Then let's go."

The two of them headed toward Mac's lab. Hawkes was overly thankful not to run into the others on the way. He did not want them to know, did not want to discuss with them the purpose behind the trip to see their boss. He figured the less people who knew about this, the better. Keep it under wraps, no chance of it accidentally slipping out and getting to the wrong ears. When they arrived at Mac's office they found him sitting at his desk going over a stack of papers. At their intrusion he looked up, frowned when he saw them close and lock the door.

"Something up?"

Hawkes didn't even look to Adam. Something told him the lab tech would be a tad uncomfortable saying what needed to be said. Adam tended to be a tad...awkward when around Mac. Possibly a combination of too much respect mixed with a pinch of fear. "Mac, we have a problem. You know that case we picked up last night?"

"Yes, what about it?" Mac was giving them his full attention.

Hawkes held up the piece of paper Adam passed to him. "Adam ran the fingerprints found in the room."

"A lot of them didn't match anything in the database," Adam jumped in.

"But these did." Hawkes handed the paper to Mac.

As he suspected his boss frowned, a flash of worry in his eyes. "Maybe he had an excuse..."

Hawkes passed over the second piece of paper, the test he had run more than once. "I found his blood there, too, Mac. As much as we may not want to admit it, Flack was there. He was in that room." Hawkes shifted his weight, knowing that what he was about to say would break the confidence Flack had in him. However, there were certain circumstances when telling a secret would do more good than harm. "I saw him, Mac, last night outside the crime scene. He had blood on his clothes and he made me promise not to say anything. But..."

Silence settled over the room as they all took it in, all the information swirling around and what it meant. Flack had been at the scene of the crime. He had been in the room with the body, his blood was in that room. How much of the red stuff belonged to him was hard to tell, so much of it mixing together. Was he held in the room? Did he get injured in the process of getting away? Was he made to witness what happened to the other person? Or was it something more foul, more unspeakable.

Could Flack actually be responsible for the carnage? Could Flack be a murderer?


	17. Whispers

**Chapter Seventeen: Whispers  
**

He couldn't sleep so he decided to drive around the city for a while. Probably not the best idea given the fact that it was New York City and the streets were almost always busy. At least in the darkest hours of the night there weren't nearly as many cars. He spent two or three hours driving aimlessly, no specific destination in mind. He kept the radio turned up to help drown out the thoughts running through his mind. He didn't want to hear the accusatory voice that threatened to drive him over the deep end. He had been a straight arrow for too much of his life, did things by the book. Okay, so there may have been a slip-up here and there, but for the most part he was a good cop, a damn decent detective. So he found it hard to believe he would have committed murder.

And yet, his mind refused to let go of the notion, refused to be convinced otherwise. When he started to feel sick to his stomach he turned down a side road, pulled along the curb and threw open the door. He sat there for a handful of minutes waiting for the sensation to pass, then closed the door and continued down the street. Vaguely he recognized his surroundings, a frown causing his brow to furrow. This place was familiar to him. And then he realized why as he drew closer to the vast brick building with the yellow crime scene tape outside. He drove by slow enough to see that no cops waited outside to keep an eye on the place, at least none that he could see in the immediate vicinity. There was almost always a uniformed officer posted to watch active crime scenes, especially those that were of such a terribly gruesome nature.

Flack drove a little further down the road before pulling along the curb. He shut off the engine, sat there listening to it tick as it cooled. All the buildings in the immediate area were dark. A streetlight a short distance down the road flickered off and on, the bulb either loose or about to die. Not a soul was present, save for the cat sitting atop a trash can.

He was still sitting there a few minutes later, thinking, trying to will up the courage to head back down the street. Surely the building had a back entrance, one that he could sneak into without being noticed by watchful eyes lurking in the darkness. He had to see the room, had to put himself back into the scene of the crime for it all to become clear once again. Then and only then did he figure he could put it to rest, quiet the questions running through his brain.

And what if he should discover that he had indeed killed someone?

The thought tore through him, caused him to shiver, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. What then? Simple, he would deal with the consequences. He would take himself down to the precinct and do the right thing. Turn himself in. No doubt his friends would be disappointed in him, but nobody lived a perfect life. People slipped up all the time. He may have just taken a big dive in the wrong direction, derailed somewhere along the trip called his life.

Finally deciding that he couldn't stand to sit around not knowing for another minute, he threw open the car door, stepped into the night, and closed the door with a silent hiss. He waited with baited breath, listening, muscles tensed. No other sound came in the night that should not have been there; the sound of cars in the distance, cricks chirping their nightly song, the cat jumping off the trash can causing it to fall over with a loud crash. He nearly jumped three feet, cursing the cat under his breath as he mentally told himself to get a grip.

With a measure of stealth he walked toward the taped off building, making sure to stick to the deepest shadows as much as possible. The longer he could go without being noticed the better off he would be. When he drew close to the alley alongside the building in question he slipped down it, just barely managing to avoid a puddle of suspicious origin. It stank down here and the smell brought with it images of that night, of him stumbling in the darkness toward the street only to stumble into Hawkes. He should have been more cautious. What a fool. A big mistake on his part. No doubt his friends were trying desperately to get a hold of him. Too bad he turned his cell phone off, too bad he left it at his apartment. With one hand on the wall he followed the contour of the building until he felt the brick give 'way to metal. Feeling around he located a doorknob, it turned in his hand, unlocked. Perhaps the door he stumbled out of the other night.

He didn't give himself time to think as he stepped into the building. The all too familiar stench of dried blood filled his nostrils as he crossed the threshold, the door closing with a soft hiss in his wake. Reaching into his pocket he retrieved his car keys. For some reason he always kept a small keychain flashlight, something probably instilled in him by his mother. He turned it on now using the weak beam to help get an idea of where he was in the pitch darkness. For the most part the place looked strange, unfamiliar. Then he spotted a streak of white paint by an entryway into another room and knew that he'd been by it before.

That was the direction he headed, intent on finding out the truth.

A few twists and turns more he stumbled upon the crime scene. By all rights he should have let his nose lead the way, the smell growing increasingly overwhelming with each step he took in the right direction. He couldn't help but wonder why the place smelled so terrible. Then he was ducking under the yellow tape, setting foot inside the actual room where the murder happened. And that was when he remembered the lack of windows. No way to ventilate the room save for the door he just walked through. He put a hand over his nose, forced himself to breathe through his mouth. With the tiny flashlight beam he began to look around the room, turning in a slow circle, opening his mind to the flood of images he prayed would come forth.

And his mind did not let him down.

In cold clarity he saw the events leading up to that pivotal moment. The images were so real, so vivid in his mind that he could feel the cold metal of the gun in his hand, heard the deafening echo as he pulled the trigger, the scream in pain as the bullet tore through flesh. His side began to burn, ache. He took a stumbling step backward, startled, overwhelmed by the return of the memories.

So lost in his own little world he never heard the sound of shoes scuffing on the floor. Nor the crackle of a radio. When he turned to leave the room, to make his escape, he got no further than a foot before he saw the barrel of a gun pointed at his chest. He was instantly blinded by the glow of a more powerful flashlight. instinctively he put his hands up, his heart pounding in his chest. Then his mind began to work feverishly. What if the person on the other side of the light meant to harm him? He thought about reaching for the gun holstered on his hip, thought about making a go at saving his life. Hated the feeling of deja vu that washed over him in that second.

"NYPD," a voice boomed, stopping him before he made an even bigger mistake. He had been right all along, the building was being watched. "Put your hands up!"

For the second time that night he felt like throwing up. In his own drive to understand things had just gone from bad to worse.


	18. You One Day Will

**Chapter Eighteen: You One Day Will**

"Tell me again, where did you find him?" Mac asked the uniformed officer. He was standing in the precinct gazing through the small two-way mirror that allowed him to see into interogation. Flack sat at the table within the room, his head hanging low, his shoulders hunched, a man who clearly had met with defeat. Mac had been on his way home when he got the call, had been planning to enjoy a late dinner with his wife, after all, Stella went through the trouble of cooking. Instead he found himself scrambling to reach the precinct, his heart hammering away in his chest, beating out a strong rhythm against his ribs.

"Lurking at the crime scene," the officer recounted. "He must have sneaked in a back way, probably figured we would be watching the place. I did not see him actually go toward the building but caught sight of a light flashing off a pane of glass, decided it wouldn't hurt to have a look around. Especially since I saw his car drive down the street and thought it looked vaguely familiar."

"Thanks for calling me," Mac said, clapping the guy on the shoulder once. He then left the uniformed officer to do whatever he needed, whether it be to head back out or to file a report. There were more important things on Mac's mind. Like finding out what the hell Flack was up to. He had spent a good portion of the day trying to ignore the fact that all the current evidence pointed to the detective as the perpatrator of the crime. He knew Flack, or at least liked to think he knew Don Flack, after all the time they spent working cases together. Yet, even he had to admit that Flack had been acting somewhat weird since the death of Angel and then the loss of Chandler. Not that he blamed the detective, people grieved in different ways. Apparently grieving for Flack meant breaking the rules and putting his job on the line in order to find the truth. How many times had he done that sort of thing himself, Mac wondered as he walked into the interogation room.

Flack did not look up at the sound of his entrance. The detective did not even so much as flinch.

Without saying a word Mac moved closed the door, moved across the room and took the chair across the table from his friend. In his mind he expected there to be a logic explanation for everything that was going on, he was scientist, therefor the explanation was always logical. At least to someone. He might not always see eye to eye with the logic involved in someone killing someone else, but he could not argue that the logic was not there.

"Do you want to explain yourself?" he asked, figuring it might be best to just get the ball rolling. The sooner he could clear Flack's name the sooner he would feel better.

"There's nothing to explain."

"Bullshit," Mac grumbled, his voice laced with anger. "Do you have any idea how bad this looks, Don? You are all over the crime scene, and now the cops find you there? What the hell was going through your mind?"

Flack remained silent.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what the hell is going on," Mac frowned. "Help me out here, Flack, I don't want to see one of my friends go away for murder if he's innocent."

Something he said made the detective look-up. "If? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Mac shrugged. "You're the only suspect I have right now, Flack. You're all over the scene and won't tell me why. What the hell else am I supposed to think? It only makes matters worse that the victim happens to have been a member of Sonny's crew. Everybody in the precinct knows you've got a thing against Sonny for the death of Chandler. This looks like a revenge killing, Flack," Mac laid it all out for him, hating it even more now that he had spoken the words out loud. While the scenario played out in his mind he could keep his worries and doubts private. Now they had been aired for the whole world to hear.

Flack seemed to be searching his eyes, looking for some glimmer of hope, and clearly was not happy with what he saw. He finally let out a shuttering sigh, quickly wiping away a tear and replacing his sorrow with a burning anger. "All right, you want the truth?" His voice was cold, flat. "I shot the guy, Mac. You can test my weapon to any bullets you find on the scene. I shot the fucker. Put a bullet right in his heart."

"Why?" Mac said the word evenly, meanwhile his mind was racing. He had not expected Flack to admit to any part of the crime, he expected Flack to be pleading his innocence.

"Because he was going to shoot me first," Flack told him. "Dammit. The asshole led me there under false pretense and he tried to kill me. I did what I had to do in order to get out of that building alive, Mac." Flack hit the table with the palm of his hand. "He said he knew where I could find Danny, said he would help me bring Sonny down. I was stupid to believe him."

"And the bruise on your side?" Mac inquired. "The cop who brought you in mentioned it, suspects you may have a broken rib or two. How did that happen?"

FRor a few seconds Flack didn't say anything, he seemed to be studying the grain of the wooden table. Slowly he lifted his head, locking eyes with Mac. "I don't remember."

"Now is not the time to be playing games, Flack."

"It's not a fucking game. I don't remember!"

Mac clenched his teeth, told himself to take a chill pill, to conduct this interview without letting his personaly feelings get in the way. No matter how hard that was going to be, he had to do this right, he had to get the information out of Flack so he could show the world that his friend was no murderer. "Okay. So tell me what you do remember, what is the next thing you see after shooting the guy?"

"My apartment," Flack mumbled. "I see blood and...I'm sitting in my apartment. I don't remember getting there...can't remember..."

"Hawkes saw you stumble out of the alley while he was there to process the scene. Do you remember that?"

Flack merely nodded his head.

"This is more than enough to put you away for life, Don," Mac said in a much softer, friendlier voice. "All the evidence, you being scene at the crime scene, admiting to being there..."

"But I only shot the guy," protested Flack. "Whatever happened afterward...that was not me," he narrowed his eyes. "I swear. You know me, Mac, I wouldn't do that sort of thing."

As he stared at the detective he tried to think of any possible way to free the detective from the horrible dark cloud looming over his head. But there was nothing he could do short of doctoring the evidence. And no way was he going to do that, not for a friend, not ever. It went against everything he believed in. Then again, so did the idea of Flack being capable of the carnage clearly displayed in that room. He did not doubt for a minute that Flack shot the guy in self defense, he saw the truth clearly in Flack's eyes, heard it in the tone of his voice. He also believed that Flack did not remember what happened afterwards aside from bits and pieces. The mind had a way of blocking out terrible events to keep from reliving them. Maybe Flack had been present during the dismembering of the body, perhaps there had been more than one person in the building lying in wait. Feeling a new resolve Mac planned on taking the entire team back to the crime scene when morning rolled around. It was time they went over the place with a fine toothed comb. Otherwise Flack was going to be spending a lot of time in jail.

He stood, pushing back his chair. "You aren't currently being charged with anything aside from trespassing. I highly advise you to stay in your apartment, Flack. Don't do anything that could get you into further trouble. Things aren't looking good for you."

"You believe me, though, don't you, Mac? I didn't do it."

Mac saw the hope, the need for at least one person to say he was on his side. What Flack needed more than anything at the moment was a good friend. "Yes, I believe you."

Instead of making him feel better as Mac had hoped the words caused Flack to narrow his eyes again, a brief flash of anger making them a more vivid blue. "That sounded...false. You honestly think I might have killed and maimed someone. You should know I would never..."

Mac sighed. "Truthfully, Flack? You're chasing after Sonny Sassone. You are playing his games. You are so lost in your grief that you keep making poor decision. At this rate, I'm afraid that you some day will." He didn't say another thing, didn't bother to stick around to see what Flack had to say, he had to get out of the room, away from all the swirling thoughts in his mind. In the morning he would start fresh, go to the crime scene and begin picking the place apart brick by fucking brick if he had to. He just hoped that Flack could manage to stay out of trouble long enough for them to clear his name.


	19. Escape

**Chapter Nineteen: Escape**

He stood in the middle of the room, slowly turning, taking in all the detail. His mind raced desperate to understand the way things were playing out. He wanted to put this to rest before it got too far out of hand, if it hadn't already crossed the line. For all he knew, this had reached the point of no return, lives were going to be ruined. Permanently. A good man was going to be thrown to the lions, left out in the cold, used as a scapegoat. Something he just could not let happen. Yet, the more time he spent on the case, the more he pushed in his quest to seek the truth the worse it seemed to get, all the evidence mounting, pointing strictly in one direction. He hated to think of his friend as a murderer, but it was beginning to look more and more like Flack crossed the line. And that did not sit well with him.

However, there still remained a tiny bit of hope that the whole mess was a very elaborate way of making Flack look guilty. Whoever was behind it, should that be the actual case, was good, almost too good. They had not left behind a single piece of evidence to suggest someone else besides Flack had been present during the time of the murder. The detective's hair, his fingerprints and boot prints matching his in the blood all tied him to the chaos. Mac had sent Hawkes and Stella to back to the room, made them comb the entire abandoned building and the alleys all around in hopes that they might stumble across something. Alas, aside from an old paper cup filled with what appeared to be oil they turned up nothing. Nothing that seemed out of place, to be specific. At some point the building had been used by squatters.

Abandoned buildings.

It all seemed to tie back to abandoned buildings. The same sort of building that went up in flames and killed firefighters in the process.

And on some level, call it a gut feeling, he felt that Sonny Sassone was behind the whole thing. He believed what Flack had told him during their meeting in the park. And when he stepped into the interrogation room...well, he never once fully believed Flack capable of the crime. There may have been some small doubt, but that came with the territory. He learned a long time ago that sometimes you had to expect the unexpected. Unfortunately, the idea that Flack was currently sitting in a jail cell awaiting processing and all that other crap broke his heart, drove home the importance of finding the truth. And what did he do better than finding the truth? He always got his hands dirty, waltzed into the dark places nobody wanted to even think about so that he could put the right people behind bars.

Detective Don Flack did not belong in jail.

Ever.

And so he decided it might help the investigation if he paid a visit to Flack's apartment. Something happened in those moments, something important that Flack could not remember. A blow to the head, no doubt, and he had already talked with Hawkes about having a look at Flack when he got a free moment. He wanted a trusted source to look over the detective, someone he knew would not lie no more what he discovered. Since Flack could not recall those precious moments Mac got it into his head that perhaps, just maybe, he might find an answer of sorts in Flack's apartment. Where else would the detective have run after the crime? Scared people always headed to a location of safety, a place of comfort where they could sit and think, plan out their next move.

Yet, he had been in Flack's apartment for nearly three hours and still had not found a damn thing. Aside from the place being a mess. It sent a stab of pain through his heart, a bit of guilt. He should have been paying more attention to Flack's broken heart, his sudden loss of a loved one, instead of riding his case about staying away from Sonny. Too late to turn back now, and in some aspect he had been right. Flack should have steered clear of Sonny. If he had none of this would have happened. He would not currently be standing here trying to make heads or tails of a mess of clothing, old pizza boxes, unwashed dishes and unopened mail. He needed something, anything, a sign. A single clue to point him in the right direction.

With a sigh he settled on the edge of the sofa, rubbing the back of his neck.

His phone buzzed. A text message. The simple message from Hawkes.

_Slight concussion. Wound in side, possible bullet graze?_

"What the hell happened to you, Don?" he muttered as he read the message.

The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on edge. Someone was trying to break into the apartment. He quickly put his phone away, dashed into the bedroom and waited, gun drawn. It may very well have been a cohort of Sonny coming to plant some evidence, in which case he planned to catch them in the act, then drag them down the interrogation room and give them a tongue lashing that would leave them scarred for the rest of their lives.

He listened as the door opened, the sound of someone stepping inside, the door closing behind them. The lock slipping into place. He tensed, his heart racing, beating out a frantic rhythm in his chest. For a fleeting second he thought about his time as a Marine, flashed back to another moment when he waited with baited breath. Funny thing how his current job related a lot to his past. A bead of sweat broke out on his forehead as he he listened to the unknown person moving around the apartment. He was about to jump out, gun aimed and ready to fire when he heard the distinct sound of footsteps heading in his direction. He waited for the right moment, just as the person was about to enter the bedroom, then stepped out, gun pointed square at the intruder's chest.

"NYPD," he addressed himself.

And instantly lowered his weapon.

Standing before him was a bloodied, tired man. A man with a terrified look in his eyes. He had a pretty good feeling he knew who the guy was, but to be sure he had to ask. "Identify yourself."

"Danny Messer," he said, his voice harsh, raspy. "I know...I..."

Before he could get out another word his eyes rolled back in his head and he began to fall. Mac moved quickly, tucking his gun into the holster and just barely catching the poor guy before he hit the floor. He sighed, trying not to think how much more complicated things had just gotten.


	20. Any Way You Want

**Chapter Twenty: Any Way You Want It**

He paced the room trying to figure out the best course of action. It was already too late for him to call in a report, they would ask why he waited so long, wonder if maybe he was covering up something. After all, how guilty would he look being in Flack's apartment with a battered man? A battered man that happened to work for Sonny Sassone, the same Sonny Sassone that wanted to ruin his career. He fretted, feeling rather conflicted. He was not used to this torment, he always had the right answers, knew what course of action to take, but he'd been thrown for a loop, knocked off balance. Flack was sitting in a jail cell. There was a bloodied man passed out on the sofa in Flack's apartment. Everything was quickly spiraling out of control. Just how far had Flack fallen? How far had he gone to get his revenge for the untimely death of Chandler? How much trouble had he stirred up?

Mac stopped, staring intently at the man sleeping on the couch. Daniel Messer. One of the guys in Sonny's crew, low on the totem pole. For some reason Flack saw something in him, something that made him push the boundaries and step over an important line. What was it about Messer that made Flack try so hard? What hold did this man have over him? What did Flack want with Messer? Could it possibly be that he felt love for the man? They hardly knew each other, from his understanding, so how the hell could it be love? Then again, he recalled his first wife, the way he knew he loved her the minute he spotted her across the room. She taught him what it meant when people talked about love at first sight. And when he met Stella he experienced it all over again. Who was he to poo-poo the idea of Flack loving this man, this lowly criminal?

He had done his research on Messer, checked him out after first learning about him. The kid had a lot of promise before he fell into line behind his older brother and started messing around with the wrong crowd. He could have done something good with his life, and from what he managed to scrounge together he saw that things got even worse when Sonny hurt his older brother. He held the older brother's well being over Messer's head, used him to keep the kid in line. He wondered if perhaps he could help by tracking down Danny's older brother and putting him in a safe place. The longer he stared at Danny the more he began to formulate a plan, a way to get Sonny and clear Flack's name. If everything worked out right he might be able to solve all the problems in one fell swoop if all worked out properly.

But he needed the right key players.

And it meant putting his job on the line.

He sat on the coffee table, keeping a watchful eye on Danny. He treated the wounds the best he could, still surprised to find the guy snooping around Flack's apartment. The various cuts and bruises suggested he had been tortured to some degree, probably for playing games with Flack. Sonny Sassone had a thing against him, a real drive to put him behind bars or in the ground. If things worked out, though, he was going to be the one coming out on top. A lot of it relied on how much Danny cared for Flack; which he suspected to be a good amount.

Danny began to stir, moaning in pain, the picture of a man suffering from a nightmare. Mac waited it out until Danny slowly opened his eyes, then quickly sat up tearing one of his bandages free in the process. Blood began to ooze from the reopened wound, slowly trickling down his bare chest. He startled at the sight of Mac and nearly jumped off the couch before Mac managed to convince him to stay, holding up his hands in a gesture of innocence. No guns in sight. He merely wanted to talk.

"Why did you come here?" Mac inquired, trying to think of the best questions to ask in this situation. He had to tread lightly.

"Flack...he.."

"He's in jail."

Danny seemed to fall apart at the news. His shoulders slumped, he hung his head. "Damn him," he grumbled. "When I get my hands on Sonny I am going to-"

"Hold on," interrupted Mac, holding up a hand to stop him. "You kill him and you'll end up in the exact same place as Don. Let's talk this out. Tell me what happened, where have you been, who did this to you."

Finally Danny inspected his bandaged wounds, saw that Mac had taken the time to doctor him. He ran a hand tentatively over a particularly horrible cut near his heart, his hand shaking. The wound could have been fatal had it been a bit deeper and a little further to the right. "Sonny...he...he wanted me to set up Flack to get to you and I guess in a way...he always gets what he wants."

"Not this time."

Danny looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"Are you willing to help me bring down Sonny?"

The question got him a glare through slit eyes, Danny pulling back out of...fear? Suspicion? "What are you talking about?"

Mac began to lay out a plan for him, telling him the details a little at a time, stopping to listen as Danny uttered one suggestion or another. The more they talked the more excited Danny grew, a hope sparking to life in his eyes. Behind his crooked glasses he looked rather comical and yet, endearing. The more he talked the more he understood what it was about him that attracted Flack's attention. There was something about Danny, something he could not quite put his finger on, and he saw a certain promise in Danny. The exact same promise his saw in the likes of his friends, his team members. And he began to have an entirely new idea. But one thing at a time. First he had to get Flack out of jail and that meant taking down Sonny.


	21. I'm Sorry

AN: Please bear with me, my internet connection has been screwy for two or three weeks now. Roughly about the time some nasty storms blew through my state.

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**Chapter Twenty-one: I'm Sorry  
**

The cot was one of the least comfortable things he had ever slept on in his life. Who would have thought he would find himself in this place, the one on the wrong side of the bars? He used to give cells barely a second though, figuring what was the point, he'd never actually spend time in one. Boy, how wrong he turned out to be in the end. It had to have at least been one day since they took his shoelaces and his belt, sticking him behind the bars like some common criminal. Of course, the duration of time was lost on him as he was not processed or sent off to one of the prisons. Nope, they kept him in a cell at the end of the row in the precinct where he began to feel like some sort of freakish attraction. He could almost see the thoughts of disappointment running through the minds of his co-workers, the way they avoided looking in his direction as much as possible while dealing with other offenders. They didn't want to acknowledge his presence, yet on some level he was being treated differently. Did it have something to do with his friendship with Mac? Was he pulling strings to keep things from rolling along like they should have?

That thought scared him more than anything else, the idea of Mac putting his job on the line just to get him out of a bind. A bind that he could not even think his way out of, and being stuck in a small cell he had plenty of time for thinking. He was sick, disgusted, out right pissed at himself for falling so far. How could he have been so stupid? Had he just followed the rules, listened to Mac, none of this would have happened. But he wanted desperately to help Danny as well as to catch the man responsible for killing Chandler. An image of his former lover crossed his mind. He quickly banished it to avoid the pain it traditionally brought. He saw no point in playing the game of 'what might have been' for it would lead him into a dark place. He touched the edge of the darkness, never stepped fully in and he was already in jail. Probably a good thing in the long run, he knew without a doubt that if he ever got his hands on Sonny Sassone he would kill the bastard.

He could think of no one in the city who deserved to die more than the wanna be mobster.

Flack rolled onto his side, hugging himself. He wondered what happened to Danny. Was he okay? Had Sonny gotten to him and finished a job he probably thought he should have done a long time ago? Or was Danny free, on the run with his brother somewhere to start over, make a new life far out of Sonny's reach? A pleasant dream, no doubt, but he knew it was not possible. No, more likely than not Danny had already fallen victim to his unwanted boss. He always found it interesting how generally good people ended up in bad situations. All Danny wanted to do was keep his brother safe and look where it got him...wherever he was at the current moment.

Jostling him from his thoughts someone tapped against the bars. He glanced over his shoulder to see one of the uniformed officers, a guy that had looked up to him since getting the job, and judging by the look in his eyes he still had faith in his favorite detective. "There is someone here to see you."

"I'm not in the mood for visitors," Flack responded, placing his head back down on the rather flat pillow. A lot of people had been coming 'round to see him since the word got out. He had been turning each and every one of them away, not wanting to see his family and the unasked questions mingling with disappointment in their eyes. He did not want to talk with the crew from the lab because he had actually grown to hate himself enough that he decided he was not worthy of their friendship. He screwed up royally and he had to pay for it. "Tell them to go away or that I'm sleeping, I don't rightfully care. Just get rid of them."

"Not going to work this time, Don," a female voice suddenly spoke. He did not have to look to know that it was Stella. Had she come here to belittle him, to make him feel even worse that her husband was doing everything he could to save his life?

"Please leave."

She gestured to the uniformed officer who produced a ring of keys. He slipped one into the lock. "Come on, Flack, we have work to do."

"No thanks."

With the door wide open Stella waved away the officer and entered the cell, waiting to speak until the officer had left and the coast was clear. She walked 'round to the side of the cot so she could actually talk to him face to face, though he did everything he could to avoid eye contact. "Listen to me, Flack, your sorry-for-myself ass is getting off that cot and walking out that door," she pointed for added emphasis. "I pulled a shit load of strings for this to happen and you will not, I repeat, will not, lay there in a puddle of oh-woe-is-me and tell me no."

He closed his eyes. "Stella, please, I appreciate you trying to help out, but you really should not have gone through the trouble," he grumbled. "This is where I belong. For all I know I actually killed the guy in that room. My memory may be hazy, but I distinctly remember firing my weapon and watching as the bullet hit him."

"So? Since when does it bother you so much to shoot someone? You've done it numerous times in the line of duty," she threw back in his face. She placed her hands on her hips, the anger she tended to keep locked away from sight, the sort of thing everyone expected of Aidan, not her, came out. "My husband is out there somewhere in the city, are you aware of that, Flack? And I am not talking about him just doing his job. He went to your apartment last night, Flack, and he did not come home. He did not report to work this morning. He won't answer his cell phone."

He heard the note of worry in her voice, felt a stab of pain. What sort of trouble had he caused now? How much worse would it get? Could it be that Mac had merely forgotten to charge his cell phone or could it be something more sinister? "Stella, I'm sorry but-"

"Do not give me some lame ass excuse, Flack," she snapped, pulling something out of her back pocket. A picture. A picture she held out in front of him. "He was last seen with this guy. One of the people that lives in your apartment building remembers seeing them walk out together. Thankfully the secruity tape caught them. Who is he Flack and what the hell is he doing with Mac?"

Flack took the picture, finally sitting up on the cot as he tried to figure out what he was seeing. How could it be? None of it made any sense to him, not in the least. He felt like a total fool, a completely idiot. Once again he had made a mistake, one mistake after another. At this rate someone was going to end up dead because he could not control his emotions. And judging by the picture the unlucky person would be Mac. But he could have sworn he saw something believable and trustworthy in Danny's eyes. So why did it look like Danny was marching Mac out of the building against his will? The picture was grainy and they were too close together, but it looked like Danny might actually have a gun on Mac. What the hell was going on?


	22. Head Games

AN: Computer is going away to get fixed!

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**Chapter Twenty-two: Head Games**

"You told me he was missing," yelled Flack, angered for reasons that made little sense to him. On the drive to the apartment she shared with her husband, Flack felt this building sensation of foreboding. He had done something to get Mac into trouble, something that could very well lead to the death of his boss. He was on the verge of a full freak out, of falling apart. Everything seemed to have gone wrong since the devastating loss of Chandler. When she parked along the curb outside the building he followed her up the stairs lost in a fog. It never once occurred to him that they should have been at a crime scene or at the lab, something more suitable than their apartment.

And then he walked through the door.

Mac was standing there writing something down on a write on-wipe off board. At the sight of his boss he felt a flood of emotions. Everything from general happiness and glee to the resentment of being lied to and dragged out of his prison for nothing. Despite the desire to be free of those bars he felt that he deserved to be lying behind them, locked away from the rest of the world should he accidentally black out and commit another murder he would not later remember. At the sight of his good friend he wanted to run across the room and embrace him, as well as throw a few dirty looks in Stella's direction. Where did she get off telling him such a terrible lie? And what about the video footage she showed him? It must have been doctored in some way to make him truly think Danny had done something to Mac. Should he be upset that they all seemed to know how to push his buttons?

"What the hell is going on here?" he ordered, making sure to go no further than the apartment door. At this rate he was going to order Stella to take him right back to the prison cell. He shouldn't be getting free rides because of who he was or who he knew. "Either tell me the truth and just take me right back, Stella, because I am not in the mood for games."

Mac put down the marker he had been using. "Take it down a notch, Don. There is a good reason for Stella lying to you. We need your help in getting to Sonny."

He remained silent, arms crossed over his chest, a scowl on his face. What exactly did they need him for?

The leader of the crime lab sighed. He walked over to Flack, took him by the arm, and led him toward the bedroom. On the short walk over Flack figured there was something the older man wanted to say in private, something he felt he could not say in front of his wife. Instead Mac ushered him into the room and then closed the door behind him. For a minute Flack was confused. The bedroom was neat, the bathroom door closed. What purpose did Mac have in shuffling him away? Maybe he had it backwards. Maybe Mac wanted to say something to Stella without his listening. And then he heard the toilet flush. His guard instantly went up, unsure of who might be poking around in the apartment. How many of the others were in on this Let's Lie To Flack campaign?

The door opened.

He felt his heart skip a beat.

Standing there with a variety of bandages and some bruises was none other than Danny. At once he wanted to run over and make sure the poor guy was indeed okay. Yet at the same time he wanted nothing more to let his anger loose, to get mad and let them all have it. Playing with his emotions, what a terribly rude thing for them to do. Where had the idea even come from? And how the hell did they manage to rope Danny into it? As soon as he freed himself from his thoughts he realized that Danny was smiling, though somewhat pained, at the sight of him.

"We meet again," he said.

"Why are you here?" Flack wanted desperately to know. Why couldn't he get any answers? "What the hell is going on?"

Danny walked over to the bed, sat on the foot of it. He quickly rehashed what had happened, how he had fallen on the wrong side of Sonny because of something he said. How Sonny had decided to teach him a lesson. How he ran to the only safe place he could think of, Flack's apartment, where he found Mac poking around trying to make sense of things. It snowballed from there. They got to talking, decided they had to do everything possible to take down Sonny Sassone once and for all. The first thing Mac did was make sure Danny's brother was safe and sound, somewhere Sonny would never be able to get his hands on him. At least that was the hope. Then they began to formulate the plan; which needed Flack's help so they had to convince him to leave the jail cell. A lie was the only way they saw fit to get him out, a lie about one of his friends being in danger.

As Danny talked Flack walked over to the bed and sat beside, amazed and somewhat surprised, he had never heard so many words coming from the other guy, not in a such a long tangent. He waited patiently until Danny finished telling him how he ended up with Mac and how they got him into the apartment, he even clarified the walk in front of the camera with the gun to get the footage. An empty gun loaned to him by Mac.

"Wow..." was all Flack could think to say.

Danny waited a heart beat. "Will you help?" He searched Flack's face for an answer, the desperation clear in his eyes.

"Of course," Flack quickly responded. How could he not help? He would be putting Sonny behind bars, thus freeing Mac from anymore trouble. Possibly clearing his name. Getting Danny and his brother out from under the rule of a nasty man. And maybe, just maybe, finding a bit of love in the end. "Tell me the plan. What do I have to do?"


	23. Shadow

AN: Computer is home!

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**Chapter Twenty-three: Shadow**

He hated that things had gone this way, that they had gone this far, but he was starting to get desperate. The things Sonny put him through, the abuse, the threats, the torture, he had to get out from under, make a stand of sorts, show that he was not someone to be pushed around. He had to do something that made it perfectly clear that he could be of some use, that he could get by. Not to mention, he was starting to get rather desperate about keeping his brother safe. All he could think about were those last words Sonny imparted on him before letting him free of that damned room in his basement. How if he failed him one more time Louie would end up in a place worse than the hospital this time around. It broke Danny's heart to hear those words, to know that his brother's life rested in his hands. How he wished he had gone a different path, taken his brother's advice when he was warned away from Sonny and his cohorts.

Why had he not listened?

He ran a nervous hand through his hair, not entirely sure he was prepared to take this step, to make the ripple in the water he was about to cause. With a hesitant look back over his shoulder he steeled his spine the best he could, forced the shaking in his hands to vanish. Then he climbed out of the car, slamming the driver's side door before going 'round back and popping open the trunk. The trunk. Of all places. He kept his hands on the lid as it lifted, letting his head hang down as he felt a wave of panic wash over his body. What the hell was he doing? Could he really go through with this? Just hours ago he had been sitting in Detective Flack's apartment having a conversation with the newly released detective. It felt normal, right, like a conversation between two friends, not two men on opposite ends of the coin.

But he had to play the cards life dealt him, whether he truly wanted to or not. In his world, as he supposed in many others, he had to do what he could to ensure his survival. With that thought in mind he reached into the trunk with both hands and hefted out the body. He had never done such a thing before, merely standing by while Sonny's other men got their hands dirty. He was almost always the driver, sometimes for the worst crimes Sonny committed, all done to help keep him in line, to break his spirit. Maybe it finally paid off, he was not entirely sure.

Looking around to make sure nobody was paying attention, and why should they be? The desolate apartment building sat surrounded by a cracked and weedy parking lot. He found the perfect spot to remain hidden from the streets, nobody would even know he was there. Aside from Sonny who no doubt had someone watching the place. Always watching, always ready for anything, particularly war with the cops. How Sonny loathe the authorities. Which was going to make this gift a real blessing.

His hands hooked under the arms of the body he began to drag it toward the door. The rusty hinges squeaked before he was closer than ten feet. He stopped dead in his tracks, his heart threatening to hammer right out of his chest and across the cracked pavement. He glanced over his shoulder to see the man he feared standing there, watching him, eying him. He was not supposed to come back. Sonny warned him off, told him to get the hell out of the city if he cherished his hide. And yet, here he was right back in the lion's den. All for the sake of keeping his brother safe, amongst a few other people. As Sonny glared in his direction, a gun in his hand, Danny felt some of his resolve fading away. He might very well not be able to do this, and that was something that had not be discussed.

"Well, well, well," Sonny said as he stepped out of the building. "What have we here, hm? A big mouse dragged in by a cowardly cat? I should applaud you, Daniel, but for some reason...I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with telling you to get the hell out of here. Yet, here you stand before me."

Danny positioned the body against a nearby dumpster. "I want to stay, Sonny. Please."

"Maybe." Sonny pointed the gun in the direction of the victim. "How did you come by him?"

Danny eyed Mac out of the corner of his eye. He swallowed down the lump forming in his throat. "I lied to him, said that I would help him bring you down. He fell for it hook, line and sinker. A fool, just like you always said Sonny."

Sonny smiled, more a sneer than a smile, it sent a shiver down Danny's back. He knew that look all too well, understood that some unpleasant things were going through Sonny's mind. He watched silently as Sonny waltzed over to the fallen detective, a bound and gagged Mac with bruises and a bit of blood. Sonny put the gun to the side of his head and mimicked the sound of shooting. When Mac flinched Sonny laughed getting a good kick out of the whole thing.

"It's about damn time," Sonny said to Mac, crouching before him so that they might see eye to eye. "I always knew that somehow, some way you would end up in my hands. This is a like a dream come fucking true. We're going to have a lot of fun, Mac, me and you. I have so many beautiful plans for you. And your friends, well, I can always deal with them later."

Sonny suddenly stood, motioning at his goons to take Mac into the dark depths of the building. Danny watched him go, a growing sense of dread taking shape in his gut. What the hell had he gotten himself into this time?


	24. Messenger

**Chapter Twenty-four: Messenger**

Danny sat alone in the rather unpleasant room with the terrible mildew aroma. He'd been waiting for what felt like days when in reality it had been nothing more than an hour or two. Yet, when it came to dealing with the likes of Sonny he always grew worried when the man left him waiting. Especially since he had not seen Mac since the arriving and subsequent splitting. The guy was supposed to be in his care, under his watchful eye, he should have taken into account the paranoia and suspicions running rampant in Sonny's mind. Of course he would want to have Mac somewhere far away where no one could see him doing terrible things to the law officer. Danny was seriously beginning to rethink their plan and how well it might actually work. No, this was all wrong, horribly wrong. He got up, no longer able to sit idle on the old threadbare sofa. He began to pace, wringing his hands. Aside from a single lamp the room was dark, shadows cast into darkness. He stopped at one point, running a hand nervously through his hair.

What if Sonny did something none of them took into account? What if Sonny was crazy enough to kill Mac without once thinking or even caring about the consequences? Danny fidgeted with his shirt feeling a little hot under the collar, uncomfortable, ill at ease. He should have stayed away, should have made a run for it while he had the chance. Instead he let them, the authorities, talk him into coming back to a place he wished would already disappear. He hated being around Sonny, had grown terrified of the guy, as much as he might hate to admit it. And yet here he was trying to execute some made on the fly plan in hopes of putting Sonny behind bars for good. How would he come out of it, he wondered, if he was able to survive? Once Sonny learned of his betrayal it was only a matter of time until he would be marched into some desolate place and made to dig his own grave. Sonny would do it, too, make him labor over digging the hole before shooting him in the back of the head and disposing of his body. He shuddered at the thought, his breath momentarily caught in his throat.

Something had to change soon or he was going to go crazy, completely lose his mind.

And all because of the damned detective. There was something about the blue eyes of Flack that made him believe there might be hope in the world, a better future for himself without having to sacrifice the well-being of his older brother. How so much of his life had changed. From bad boy to finding himself falling in love with a cop. What the hell was going on? He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He had gone completely crazy. Flack was never going to love him, not the way he loved his previous boyfriend. No, there was no way in hell the detective could fall for a criminal like him, a low life, the kind of person he put behind bars day after day.

Suddenly the door opened, the unexpected intrusion making him jump at least three. He whirled around to find Sonny standing there with another one of his many lackeys. His heart nearly stopped when he spotted the blood on Sonny's shirt. The blood that had not been there before he arrived with Mac. The leader of the crime lab, was he okay or had Sonny finally fulfilled his wish to kill the lieutenant? Sonny sauntered into the room without a care in the world, of course, in his place amongst his people who was going to be brave enough to challenge him? Danny's mind began to race, his thoughts going back to the blue-eyed detective. The only way someone like Flack would ever give him a chance in hell was if he proved himself worthy, stood his ground and went through with the plan to put Sonny in jail. Even if it made him feel sick inside, his stomach ready at the drop of a hat to betray him.

"So...I get thinking to myself," Sonny said as he stood near the door. Danny sees he's holding something in his hand. "Why would little Danny Messer come poking around here, hm? After I told him to get the hell out of dodge, yet he comes knocking at my door and he brings with him a pleasant little gift. Mac Taylor." Sonny narrows his eyes the slightest bit. "Danny Messer, the man who can't keep his head screwed on straight most of the time. The one jackass in my crew not worth the trouble. So of course, I'm thinking, why haven't I killed this fuck, yet? Saved myself the trouble."

"Sonny-"

"Shut up," Sonny snapped, his anger loud and clear. "You come waltzing back with Mac fucking Taylor like you're some big shot and what? You thought I would roll over and just take it? I'm not stupid, Danny-boy." Sonny threw something at him, hitting him square in the chest. Danny caught the object without much effort and tried not to show too much emotion when he realized it was the wire Mac had been wearing. He'd warned Mac, told all of them that wearing a wire was the dumbest thing possible. Sonny was paranoid. They took the information with a grain of salt and now he realized that maybe they had not been paying attention.

"What the hell-"

Sonny was across the room in the blink of an eye throwing Danny up against the wall. He held a knife blade to his throat. "Fuck you, Danny Messer. I knew you couldn't bring in the big boy without it being some sort of set up. You try to get me locked up, hm?" Sonny delivered a quick blow to Danny's midsection. All of the air was forced out of Danny's lungs and he fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. "I should kill you, Messer. Should drive this knife in between your ribs and be done with you. But the cops, they expect that, don't they?"

Danny couldn't answer, could not say a word as he tried desperately to get oxygen back into his lungs.

Roughly, Sonny grabbed a handful of his hair. "I'm going to let you stay with your new friend, Messer. Let the two of you stew for a while, if the high and might Mac Taylor lasts long enough."

Two of Sonny's goons grabbed Danny and practically dragged him out of the room. He was trying to think of something to say, something to do that would change Sonny's mind on the whole issue. But he knew deep down that they were both royally fucked, unless Mac could come up with an idea. If the lieutenant was in any condition to be thinking of escape plans. Through a labyrinth of hallways they forced him along until they finally brought him to a dark door he knew all too well. Everyone in Sonny's crew knew the door. The door that so many people went into, and did not walk out again. Danny could not recall in his time with Sonny having ever seen anyone walk out of the room aside from Sonny and one or two of his people. The rest of the people ended up under concrete slabs or buried somewhere out of the city limits. Sonny was more fucked up then Mac Taylor and his friends knew, but Danny had a feeling they would know soon enough.


	25. Emergency

**Chapter Twenty-five: Emergency  
**

Danny stewed in the darkness as Mac rested on the uncomfortable ground at his side. He could not tell exactly what was wrong with the lieutenant but he could definitely smell blood on the air. He kept his distance, afraid to investigate further, afraid to have the horror in his mind come true. Sonny did not kill Mac. Their plan could not have gone so horribly wrong in such a short time, could it? He took a step toward Mac, only to take that same step back. The indecision was driving him crazy, threatening to tear him to pieces. If he went over there to find Mac dead, gone, torn away from the world of the living by the likes of Sonny Sassone he would never figure himself. He would grab the nearest sharp object and bring 'round his own end. He was dumb enough to let them talk him into this, stupid enough to believe they could outwit Sonny. Nobody ever managed to pull the wool over Sonny's eyes, at least not anyone that lived for much longer afterward.

Chewing his bottom lip he finally screwed up the courage to go over and check on the downed cop. Hesitantly he reached out, pressing two fingers to the side of the neck checking for a pulse. With a sigh of relief he felt back on his butt. At least Mac was not dead so he did not have that hanging over his head. He still had a shot with Flack. And where the hell did that thought come from, he frowned in anger at himself. Now was not the time to be thinking about his love life. He needed to think of a way to get them the hell out of this place before both of them ended up six feet under.

"Don't do anything stupid."

Danny jumped at the sound of Mac's voice. He may have let out a yelp of surprise, but was not entirely sure. It may have been in his head.

Slowly Mac pushed up from the floor, wincing in pain as he moved, settling back against the nearest wall. Danny saw a bit more blood on the lieutenant's face, an angry bruise around his neck, and judging by the way Mac held his arm to his side he suspected there might have been a busted rib or two. And this was all his fault. The apology was right on his lips when the door swung open and Sonny walked in. Danny was really beginning to loath the guy, hating the way he just suddenly appeared out of the darkness like a bad dream.

"Come with me, Messer," he ordered.

"No."

"Do not disobey me," Sonny said as he slowly raised his hand. In it he held a gun, one Danny had seen him use before. "Either come with me or I shoot Mac. I won't shoot to kill, oh no, that would make it too easy. I want him to suffer, to bleed out right before my eyes."

"Fine," Danny grumbled getting to his feet mere seconds before Mac was able to grab him by the wrist. Without looking back he shuffled after Sonny, wondering if he would see Mac again or if he was indeed walking the walk of a dead man. There was no way that Sonny would forgive him for the things he had done, the betrayal in dragging an officer of the law into his inner sanctum with a wire. As they walked down the desolate hallway Danny tried to think of something to do. He could try to make a break for it, but any attempt on his behalf to get away would leave Mac a sitting duck with slaughter right around the corner. No, he was going to have to suck it up and take whatever Sonny was going to dish.

They reached the end of their journey, Sonny opening a door and motioning Danny in. He walked through to find he was standing in the garage with a big truck idling nearby. A truck with a stainless steel drum near the rear, the lid resting on the ground beside it. He could smell something unpleasant wafting over from that direction. His mind instantly jumped to the movies and all the TV shows that portrayed bodies in vats of acid. His stomach began to churn. Sonny sure did love the old style. He turned to face Sonny, watching as the man closed the door so that it was only the two of them. No one to witness the murder. Sonny never let anyone bare witness to the murders, the beatings yes, but definitely not the cold blooded murders.

"Sonny, please, let's talk about this," he said, holding up his hands.

"What is there to talk about, Messer? You betrayed me. I should have known you were scum, that you did not have the balls to be a real man."

Something snapped inside of Danny. The garage was full of countless items and he grabbed the closest one without really thinking about what he was about to do. With the two-by-four in hand, ignoring the dried blood on one end, he charged at Sonny. He realized about half way there how stupid a move it truly was since Sonny was holding a gun, but since he was most likely going to end up dead anyway he had to at least go out with a fight. The move must have been so unexpected because Sonny did not bring the gun up fast enough and before he knew it Danny was swinging the two-by-four like a bat. He heard the sicking sound of wood meeting flesh and bone as it hit Sonny in the head. In that moment he did not care one bit if he killed the wannabe mobster. After all the horrible things Sonny did, he deserved to die, to be thrown in a vat of acid and buried six feet under where no one would ever find him again.

The wood slipped from Danny's hand as the gun went off.


	26. My Conscience

**Chapter Twenty-six: My Conscience**

Danny ran through the warehouse on high alert, acutely aware that one of Sonny's goons might have heard the gunfire and be in route to find the source. Somewhat foolishly, as some might see it, he left the gun behind with Sonny. He did not want his prints to be found on the weapon, even if that meant running without any way to protect himself. Oddly enough, though, the place seemed strangely empty. He felt a chill as he slowed his run to a walk, nearing the room where he had left Mac just moments ago. His heart was hammering in his chest, his mind racing on autopilot. How the hell could he have...it was not possible, not the sort of thing he wanted to believe. Sonny...and the gun...the piece of wood. That sickening sound of something hard connection with flesh and bone. He shuddered, stopping dead in his tracks. He had to pull himself together if this escape was ever going to work out for them.

Pulling open the door he saw Mac sitting on the floor a little worse for the wear. Apparently in his time gone one of the goons paid the lieutenant an unscheduled visit. Sonny would be pissed, if Sonny knew, which at the moment was not an easy thing for the thug. Danny walked briskly into the room, a jittering bundle of nerves afraid of the doom he felt waiting right around the corner. This was definitely one of those time sensitive moments, every second counted.

He held out his hand to Mac who sat there with his eyes closed. "Come on, we need to get the fuck out of here."

At the sound of his voice Mac's eyes shot open. First they were wide with surprise, then a split second later they narrowed as Mac tried to figure out what might have happened to Sonny. Danny knew for a fact that in this room there was no way for Mac to hear the song of the gun. "How-"

"No time, we need to get out of here or risk getting shot. Choice is yours."

Mac grasped his hand and together they got the battered man to his feet. He wobbled a moment but steadied himself on the wall, and then was firmly on his feet ready to get out of the hell hole. Peering out the doorway Danny made sure the hallway was clear before stepping out. Mac fell in behind him keeping close, looking over his shoulder periodically to sound the warning cry if anyone should suddenly appear. Danny led through the twisting dark hallways, so easy to get lost with the lack of regular light but he knew the place like the back of his hand. His plan was to get to the front of the building where hopefully their car would still be waiting for them. Out of sight, out of mind. Invisible from the road there was no way in hell Sonny would have risked moving it.

"This isn't right," Mac whispered harshly as inched along through the darkness.

"Why?"

"Stella and Flack," he quickly pointed reminding Danny of the full plan. He frowned, his back to Mac, his heart still hammering frantically in his chest. What had happened to the detective and Mac's wife? They were supposed to show up, bring in the cavalry if things did not go as planned. Surely the time limit set had already been passed. There was no way they had not been in here for a length of time. A day. Stella and Flack were supposed to wait all of a day and then make the move. The important move that would bring Sonny down to their level and eventually put him in a cell. Yet there were no cops swarming the place, no one to rescue them. What went wrong?

"Something must have come up," Danny hazarded.

They were about to step out the front door when they heard a scuff of a shoe on the floor somewhere behind them. Instinctively Mac reached out and pressed a hand against Danny's chest, thrusting him back against the wall just as a gun went off. They both felt the disturbance in the air as the bullet whizzed by. Not wanting to wait around for a second shot they bolted, racing in the darkness and gloom without a real plan, the simple desire to be free the fire that kept their feet moving. Around another corner Danny saw the entrance through which they had come earlier, slowing his pace. In his mind he could hear a bothersome voice recounting all the all terrible things he could be linked to, all the things he knew Sonny to have done and he allowed them to happen. He was as guilty as the man lying in the garage with the vat of acid. And he realized what it was exactly that he had to do.

At the last moment when Mac might least suspect it he grabbed the door, pulled it open, and with his other hand he grabbed Mac. Using the lieutenant's own momentum he thrust Mac out the door, quickly closing it behind him and shutting away his freedom. He heard Mac shout on the other side as he quickly slipped all the locks into place making it impossible for Mac to get back inside. With one hand on the doorknob, another pressed against the metal of the industrial door, he rested his forehead for the briefest of moments on the cool surface. Outside he heard the frantic calls of Mac, the pounding of an angry fist. Danny let out a deep sigh, his mind having been made up. There were things in his past that he could not undo, wrongs he could not right, lives he could not save. But in this moment he had a way to make it all a little better.

Much to his surprise he felt tears sliding down his cheeks. This was not the way he wanted to go out, not exactly the way he expected. A moment of bravery, a chance to finally do something right. The one thing in his life he wanted to be remembered for.

He heard the sound of his pursuer drawing closer, already joined by at least one other person, maybe two. He gave the door one more look, hitting it with his fist. Then turned to face them as they closed in on his location. He tried not to think of all the things he was giving up, all the hope in his future. He made a terrible mistake in his past, one that led him down the wrong path and now it was time for him to pay for his mistakes. He braced himself, hands balled into fists, tears leaving wet tracks on his cheeks. If he could do one good thing in his life...

They rounded the corner. Two of them, both holding guns. The weak light washing down the hallway brought with it a measure of surprise. Danny felt the floor fall out from underneath him as Sonny stepped into his line of sight, the right side of his face covered in blood, his right eye swollen partially closed. He knew there was no getting out alive, not for him, but in the end he did the right thing by making sure Mac got away safely. At least he could die knowing he saved someone, finally managed to save one of them.

And as he closed his eyes he thought of Flack.


	27. Get Away

**Chapter Twenty-seven: Get Away  
**

It tore at Mac as he stood outside in the parking lot. He hurt in various places after the beating he received from Sonny and one of his goons. But more importantly, he felt a pain deep in his heart as he saw the door close behind him, heard the locks slip into place, and realized that without a doubt Danny was going to stay behind. He understood completely what was going through Danny's mind, pretty much figured in the long run that he might have done the same thing. No, he knew for a fact that he would do exactly the same thing Danny was doing, facing his demons, his mistakes. Only, nobody should ever have to face them alone. The longer he stood there the more desperate he grew. He knew that it was only a matter of time before Danny got his comeuppance and Sonny dealt that final blow. Mac looked around trying to find anything, anything at all the help him get back in the building.

He never left a man behind. Never. And he was not about to start now.

Mac went to the car; which for some odd reason had been left in the vacant parking lot. The keys were still in the ignition. He frowned, curious as to why Sonny would not try to hide the car, make it look like they had never been there. Plausible deniability. He pulled open the door, cursing himself for not having brought a car with a radio. He felt around under the seat for the gun he had stashed there to find the spot empty. He checked two more locations to find them equally vacant, cursing. Of course, Sonny took the time to actually search the car.

He was tying to figure out what to do when he heard a gun go off somewhere inside the warehouse. He flinched, his mind instantly envisioning Danny taking a bullet. More frantic than before he climbed out of the car and went around back. Getting down on his hands and knees knowing very well it put him in a vulnerable position, he reached for the one last spot they chose to hide a gun. Flack's last moment idea. And with relief he felt the familiar shape of the pistol. Freeing it he climbed to his feet, checking to make sure it was fully loaded. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face, passing over his eye. He quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand.

Then went in search of another entrance to the warehouse.

Never once did he worry about Flack and Stella or the back-up they promised. He was pretty sure if they had not showed up by now that they had a pretty decent excuse. And last time he checked, he was capable of taking care of things, of taking care of himself. And as he thought about Flack he remembered the look in his friend's eyes when parted with Danny. He had not seen that look since that passing of Chandler. Since that pivotal moment in Flack's life he had been angry, bitter, sadden, and depressed. Something about Danny sparked an interest in Flack, brought a bit of the life back into his eyes.

Mac was not going to let him lose his second chance at happiness. Not if he could help it.

His head was pounding with the worst headache he had ever felt, the pain nearly enough to bring him to his knees. At one point as he ran around the corner of the warehouse, squeezing between the warehouse and another building, he thought he might actually pass out. As luck would have it he found a door along the back wall. The closeness of the nearby buildings drowned out any sound of the city making him feel as though he were trapped in some freaky horror movie. He inched along the wall, freezing for a few seconds when he heard a second gun shot go off. When he reached the door he prayed to find it unlocked.

It wasn't.

"Fuck," he cursed, looking around the immediate area to see if he could find something with which he could break the doorknob. There was nothing save for trash, a stick. He was beginning to feel panicked, slightly frantic, finding that he actually felt responsible for Danny. Unable to find a way in he reached for his back pocket out of habit looking for his cell phone. Then remembered it had been ditched at Flack's apartment on the decision he did not want Sonny to gain access to specific numbers.

Mac was trying to figure out his next move when the door he was standing near suddenly burst open. He spun around quickly, gun up; ready to fire at the potential goon and stopping short when he realized it was Danny. His heart did a little jump for joy, though there was definitely not time for celebrating. And then he saw the blood on Danny's shirt. Danny smiled fleetingly as he spotted Mac, then stumbled. He would have fallen if it had not been for Mac who managed to catch him in just the knick of time.

"Come on, we need to get you out of here," he said as he put Danny's arm across his shoulders and placed an arm around Danny's hips. It scared him that Danny was not communicating with him. There was a measure of blood on the poor guy, hard to tell how much of it was his and how much actually belonged to those inside. There was also no way of knowing when someone else might come out the door. Mac looked 'round behind them, deciding it might be better to head in that direction instead of back to the car. There was nothing to be found in the car, nothing of help. And he figured it might be the one place they decided to check first.

Speaking encouragingly to Danny he kept the other man on his feet, kept him moving as they navigated through the weedy, cracked spaces between the buildings. Sonny picked this section of the city for its lack of people. Most of the nearby buildings were shelter to the homeless. The further away from the warehouse they managed to get the more hopeful Mac grew in that they would be able to survive this ill fated plan.

And then he heard a door open somewhere behind them.

His heart skipped a beat.

He hazarded a glance over his shoulder. Saw nobody. He still insisted on quickening their pace toward the street he could see ahead. But with the quickened pace Danny began to slow to the point Mac was practically dragging him along.

"Come on, Danny, don't quit on me now," Mac spoke. "You have things to do, important things. Are you going to let Flack down? Do you want to do that? Just a few more steps."

He did not like the way Danny was breathing, each breath raspier than the last. By some miracle they made it to the street, but in this somewhat desolate location the traffic was extremely light, almost to the point of being non-existent. Mac managed to get Danny over to a bench, settling the injured man on the scarred wood, brushing away trash that had accumulated over time. He saw the measure of pain on Danny's face, the trickle of blood in the corner of his mouth.

Mac looked up and down the street trying to figure out what to do next.


	28. Breathless

**Chapter Twenty-eight: Breathless**

He fidgeted in the passenger feeling anxious, uneasy. He kept replaying the plan in his mind, the way things were supposed to go down, and he wondered if it might have all gone right out the window. He figured he should have known by now that relying on things to go as planned was like seeing both ends of a rainbow. Definitely possible, but not always. The way things had been laid out he should have been sitting in a car near the warehouse where he last saw Mac and Danny. He should have been watching them ready for their signal to act. Stella was to be with him, perhaps in a different location for a different view point. They were both supposed to be there, eyes on the warehouse to make sure Mac and Danny got out safe and clean.

Not exactly how it played out.

"Do you think we'll get back in time?" he finally asked, surprised to find his voice a little rough, his throat a touch dry. He was directing the question at Stella, who even without the siren and swirling lights was maneuvering the crime lab vehicle through the late day traffic. She was making great timing, but deep inside he felt it might not be quite good enough. He would never be able to forgive himself if something happened to Mac. He knew without a doubt Stella felt the same way.

"Don't worry, Flack," she soothed him, dodging around a pick-up truck and squeezing between two high priced sedans. At this rate she was going to get herself pulled over or cause an accident. He had never seen her act so restlessly. It allowed him to see she was just as geared up as he was, just as worried about their two cohorts. "Mac knows how to handle any situation."

Flack shifted his position, watching the world pass out the window. He had been settling into the prospect of a long day sitting in a car with nothing much to do when the call came across the radio. It was one of those calls he dreaded, an all hands on deck sort of issue. There was a situation some distance away involving an officer being taken hostage, another officer already dead. On the drive there he worried about the officers in question, praying they were not friends, though it did not change the horror of hearing his fellow officer died. The hours standing around doing nothing and feeling completely useless only made his mood worse. He wasn't exactly sure why they wanted him there, not letting him partake in any of the going's on. Apparently, the captain was still leery about his state of mind, believed he still belonged behind bars. So he stood there trying to stay calm while shooting the breeze with Hawks and Lindsay.

Neither of them knew the dangers facing Mac.

And when the captain asked for Mac, inquired about his absence, Stella came up with a lie that sound plausible, instantly believable. The captain did not question her a second time, taking her at her word. And it left them in the clear. At this point, though they were following the law, they were operating alone, not following the orders of a supervisor, technically not working on an active case. They all stood to get in a serious amount of trouble. Even more so if Mac got himself injured or worse, killed.

As they neared the area where Sonny Sassone kept his main operation, or at least that is what Danny referred to it as, he grew more anxious. Ready to jump out of the car, he pulled out his revolver, checked to make sure the clip was full. He had done it four times during the ride. He could not for the life of him shake the feeling of impending doom that was waiting right 'round the corner. The whole thing sounded fishy to him, a not too pleasant or brilliant plan to begin with, and he kept questioning what made him go along with it.

Chandler.

He was doing this for Chandler. He wanted to make sure the person responsible for killing Chandler and the other firefighters got what they deserved in the end. That meant putting Sonny Sassone behind bars. Or burying him six feet under. He found he liked the sound of the latter choice. Sonny deserved to be dead, removed from the city and the world, no longer allowed to feed like the parasite that he was.

He began to tap his fingers on the armrest.

"Would you take a chill pill?" spoke up Stella as she slowed to take a turn. They were now about a block away from the warehouse. The streets were getting more and more deserted. "If they got out they had the car with the guns. They will be fine."

"If they got out and away why haven't they called us?" he threw back at her, knowing it wasn't her fault they got called away.

Stella hit the brakes, driving even slower. "What the hell..."

Flack followed her line of sight, glancing out the front windshield. Some way down the road a man was standing in the exact middle of the street waving his arms over his head. At their distance in the gloom amongst the buildings it was hard to tell if it was a friend or foe. Flack's grip on his revolver tightened, his knuckles turning white. Stella, flipped on the brights and they both felt a momentary wave of relief as they saw that the figure was Mac. As they drew closer, however, the relief faded away as they both made out the appearance of blood on his clothing. Flack was straining to see where Danny was, not seeing another person around.

When Stella pulled up alongside Mac, he smiled, somewhat grimly. "Never been so happy to see you."

"Sorry, sweetheart," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Call came in, all hands on deck."

"You can tell me about it later, right now we need to get the hell out of here."

Flack was out of the car in the blink of an eye, his heart hammering away in his chest. He still had not seen Danny. "What happened, Mac? Where is he?"

"He's hurt, Flack," Mac said, directing him down the street a little further. Stella followed behind slowly in the SUV. "We need to get him to a hospital, the sooner the better."

As they approached a bench Flack made out the shadowed figure of a person lying across it. He jogged the last few feet, feeling the word sink out from underneath him as he finally drew close enough to make out the details. There was so much blood and for all intents and purposes, Danny already looked dead. His eyes were closed, his skin tone pale. The gentle rise and fall of his chest was the only sign of life. With Mac's help they hoisted Danny into the back of the SUV. Flack opted to stay in the backseat, Danny's head resting in his lap. Stella didn't waste any time waiting for seatbelts to be buckled as she flipped on the siren and tore out of the desolate place heading for the hospital.


	29. Too Good is True

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Too Good Is True**

The ride to the hospital seemed to take forever in Flack's mind. He remained in the backseat with Danny the entire way, holding him, afraid that if he let him go he would lose him much the way he had Chandler. A strange thought to have, perhaps, but one that made perfect sense to him. He resisted the urge to yell at Stella, to order her to drive faster. She did the best she could to get them to the emergency room in a timely manner, it wasn't her fault they happened to live in New York City and the traffic was always a bitch. Somehow, though, they made and he stood by like an idiot when Danny was transferred to a gurney and raced through the hospital. He stood there outside in the ambulance area, unmoving. Deep down he wanted Danny to magically turn out to be Chandler, to have it be the man he loved racing toward much needed help.

Was he ever going to be able to get over the grief?

That thought stayed with him for the next few hours as he paced the waiting room, alternating between shoving his hands in his pockets and crossing them over his chest. This whole waiting thing was just not for him. Mac got checked out, treated for his many bumps and bruises and cuts. Stella fawned over him, trying all the while to remain calm and cool, collected like her typical self. Unbeknown to them Flack watched them, observed them. Their relationship had not been too much of a surprise once it came to light. In fact, if he remembered correctly Hawks and Aidan had started making bets about how long before they fell in love. It had never been a question of if, just a matter of when. They were destined to be together, at least as far as their friends were concerned. They were always there for each other, ready to do whatever the other needed, ready to watch their back, to call them on the bad turns.

He found he longed for the same relationship.

One he thought he found with Chandler.

Funny how things worked out in the long run. Life never exactly went as he planned. Never. He should have been used to it by now, should have found a way to deal with the little disappointments. But since when did losing a loved one classify as a little let down? He was thinking of spending a life with Chandler. He had it all planned out in his mind. Suddenly, as he made yet another pass around the waiting room, he thought of something Aidan once said to him a long time ago while they worked a case together, just the two of them. She had uttered the words '_things happen for a reason_'. Flack stopped dead in his tracks. Had Chandler not passed away he never would have gone looking for revenge, never would have met Danny. Of course, to be honest, if Chandler was still around he would have no need for Danny, would never have given him so much as a second glance.

And yet, as he gazed toward the Personal Only doors he felt this was right, this was the way his life was supposed to go. Danny got caught up in something beyond his control, sucked into a world where he did not belong. Danny needed help in getting out and in a way, that is what he had become. He was going to help Danny get free of Sonny Sassone if it was the last thing he did. It was the least he could do, after all, Danny had just put his own life on the line to help them get dirt on the wannabe mobster.

"Hey," he suddenly spoke, turning to face Mac, "what happened to Sonny? How did you guys...?"

Mac explained what happened, putting a hand to the side of his head at one point as he winced in pain. Stella tried to get him to take one of his pain pills; which he flatly refused. Flack tried to think of why Danny would let Mac go and go do...what? It was noble of him to sacrifice his life for Mac, but Flack couldn't shake the feeling there was a tad bit more to it. Something none of them had quite yet figured out. He wanted desperately to talk with Danny, to ask him what happened while he was in there without Mac, get all the details.

"Guys," Stella's voice was soft, yet urgent. They turned to look at her, then followed her gaze to the wall mounted television in the corner. The news was playing a story about a warehouse fire. It took Flack a few seconds to recognize the location. The exact warehouse he left Mac and Danny, the one in which they both almost died because of a foolish plan. In silence they watched as the warehouse burned, one of the nearby buildings catching as well. For once Flack was happy Chandler was gone so he didn't have to be called out to save any of Sonny's men.

He turned to gauge the reaction of Mac and Stella, only to find Mac on his cell phone. "Hawkes, yeah, I need you to do something for me," Mac was saying. Flack turned his attention back to the television, feeling as though he might have to throw-up.

Eventually the news stopped running the story about the fire at the warehouse. A large portion of the building was lost. Flack did not care. The sun had fallen completely by this point and time was starting to race toward a new day. Yet he still remained in the waiting room wondering what the hell was taking the doctors so long to come and tell him about Danny. He was slouched in one of the ancient, rather uncomfortable chairs, when he spotted Hawkes walking in his direction. His eyes strayed to Mac who had been flipping lazily through a newspaper discarded by someone else earlier in the day. Stella was sleeping, her head on his shoulder. Flack tried to get them to leave multiple times, both refused. Even Mac could not get Stella to go home, she wanted to be there for them. For him.

As Hawkes entered the room Mac looked up, neatly folding the paper and placing it on a nearby table. Stella stirred, opening her eyes, then blinking a few times as she adjusted to the light in the room.

"Sorry, Mac," Hawkes spoke. Flack noticed the black smudges on Hawkes skin. The sort of smudges he used to see a lot on Chandler's things after a fire. It did not take a rocket scientist to figure out where he had been. "Four bodies were found in the fire."

Flack sat up, his heart beating a little faster. Four bodies...

"Three of them died of smoke inhalation," explained Hawkes. "Looks like the flames chased them in one direction and they got stuck. The last one died from a bullet wound to the head, an injury I believe was sustained earlier in the day."

"And?"

Flack waited with baited breath to hear the words he so desperately needed.

"None of the victims match the description of Sonny Sassone," Hawkes finally said. "I'm sorry, Mac. He wasn't there when the warehouse caught fire."


	30. Shine the Light

**Chapter Thirty: Shine the Light**

Another hour ticked by before Flack was given the okay to visit with Danny. The news brought with it a mix of emotions. For one, he was excited to know that Danny was going to be okay, that he was going to survive the extent of the chest wound and live to see another day. But at the same time he was troubled by the news passed his way by Hawkes, the simple fact that of all the bodies pulled from the fire none of them belonged to Sonny Sassone. The evil bastard was still walking around, still out the hunting them and waiting for the perfect moment to cause trouble. It made him sick to his stomach. What if at this very moment Sonny was moving around his apartment or Mac's, laying in wait until one of them walked through the door so that he could put a bullet in their head?

He stood outside the hospital room for what must have been a good twenty minutes trying to get himself grounded. If he went in worried it would only serve to make matters worse. The doctor stressed the importance of Danny needing to rest. The slightest mention of Sonny getting away might agitate the guy enough to send him running from the hospital; which would most likely lead to his death. He gritted his teeth, suddenly mad at himself, unsure of where the anger came from. Since when did he let his emotions cloud his judgment? Yeah, this case had a lot to do with the death of someone he loved, but if he couldn't get his head straight and work things out he was going to end up causing more trouble in the long run. He had to find a way to keep his mind on the job, stop thinking about the man he lost and the one lying in the hospital bed that for some reason he felt drawn to.

In his mind it was far too early to be falling in love with someone else.

Chandler had meant the world to him.

"Get a grip," he grumbled, placing his hand on the door. Bracing his spine for what waited on the other side. He may have been in numerous hospital rooms, but he never quite got used to the humming and buzzing of the machines, the wires and cords running everywhere, bandages covering wounds. And the smell, he loathed the smell above anything else. It had a way of sticking in his nostrils for days, a constant reminder of the pain suffered by someone else.

Stepping inside he found Danny resting, propped up slightly in the bed. He navigated his way to the side of the bed careful, leery of the cords. An IV dripped some sort of medication slowly into the veins. An oxygen tube made sure to supply Danny with the much need element while other wires disappeared under the blanket. Flack recognized one of them as a heart monitor, the steady beat marking the rhythm of Danny's heart. For a few seconds he stood there not saying anything, the words of the doctor playing through his mind. A broken rib had pierced Danny's lung, created a small tear and caused the air to escape. There had been bleeding into the chest cavity. He had not caught the details, his own thoughts getting in the way, but he understood the potential severity of the wound. How quickly it could have killed Danny had they not gotten him to the hospital in time.

"Hey," Danny's whisper broke through his thoughts.

Flack tried to force a smile. "How you feeling?" he asked, then instantly felt like an idiot. Given what the poor men went through it was a stupid question. He shoved his hands into his pockets, let his eyes drift to the ground. This whole thing felt weird to him. He knew he was starting to develop strong feelings for Danny, something he was not entirely sure he wanted to have happening. Danny worked for the man who killed Chandler, after all.

"Mac..."

"He's fine," Flack assured him, glancing up.

Danny winced, shaking his head. "No...Mac's..."

"In the waiting room with his wife," frowned Flack as studied Danny's face.

Frustration caused Danny to scowl as he tried to come up with the shortest way to say what he needed. He gasped for a bit of breath, the injury to his chest making it hard for him to breathe deeply even with the pain medication. "At the warehouse...Sonny..."

"Danny," Flack started, to get him to stop talking. Then he recounted the events of the day, how they found them on the side of the road, the long waiting for the doctor, and he finished with the burning of the warehouse. He watched the expression on Danny's face as he explained how none of the bodies in the building belonged to Sonny, that the evil bastard was still running around somewhere. When he touched upon that Danny shook his head slowly.

"Shot him," he mumbled.

"You what?"

"Shot him," Danny repeated, pointing to an area of his chest. "Twice."

Suddenly Flack was starting to feel somewhat better about what had happened. The possibility that Sonny could be dead...He stepped closer to the bed, crossing his arms over his chest. "You shot him twice in the chest?"

A nod in reply. "Hit...head...with two-by-four."

"Then how did he get away?"

Danny tried his best to shrug, only to instantly regret the motion, another flash of paining passing over his face. "Asshole."

This time when Flack smiled it was true. He could not help but love Danny's fighting spirit. He may have fallen in with the wrong crowd but deep down he was not a bad guy. He was just mixed up with the wrong sort of people. "Well, that certainly is good news. He couldn't possibly have gotten far with two in the chest and a blow to the head. I need to talk with Mac."

He was about to turn and leave the room, let Danny get some much needed rest while he had a good talk with Mac about trying to find the injured, and maybe even dead, Sonny Sassone. But before he could take one step Danny reached out, grabbed his wrist. Flack glanced back at him, eyebrows raised in question.

"His pocket...check his...pocket."


	31. Undone

**Chapter Thirty-one: Undone**

With Danny's words echoing through his mind Flack walked briskly through the hospital hallways back to the waiting room where he expected to find Mac. Instead he found empty chairs. Tracking down a nurse he questioned her about his missing friends learning that they had left just seconds ago. She said something about hearing the woman mutter about sleep and the need to work the next day. Flack thanked her before he took off down the hall at a dead run. Somehow he managed to dodge all the late night nurses and doctors, also avoiding the few patients capable of moving around that could not sleep. All the while he felt as though time were slipping through his fingers, Mac drawing further and further away. What if he failed to catch him in time? A quick call might help, but would it really? It might stop Stella from throwing the article of clothing into the washer, however, that would not do him any good if Mac broke or somehow ruined whatever it was that Danny stuck in his pocket.

Stepping out into the cool night air he looked up and down the sidewalk, spotting the two of them a short distance away. Stella was standing on the passenger side of the SUV, the door open as she talked with Mac who must have already climbed inside. Flack ran in their direction.

"Stella," he called. At the sound of his voice she turned to look at him, her brow furrowed in worry. "Wait, just...wait."

Mac leaned out the door as he came to a stop beside Stella. "What's wrong, Don?" he inquired, his eyes tired from the stress of the last day.

"Danny, he said he put something in one of your pockets," Flack relayed the message with a touch of hope. Whatever it was Danny knew it would be helpful in catching Sonny, something that would be good enough to put the wanna-be mobster behind bars for good. Why else slip it into Mac's pocket? "Have no clue what it is, but...he seemed desperate for us to recover it."

Instantly Mac began patting down his pockets in search of the hidden object. Secreted away in an inner pocket of his suit jacket he scored the jackpot. With two fingers he pulled out a small black object. "Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, fascinated, amazed. "I didn't even feel him put it there."

"What is it?" Flack was having trouble making out the small object in the nighttime gloom.

"A flash drive."

Stella's eyes lit up. "We can work wonders with that."

"Correction," Mac smiled, his eyes starting to twinkle. "Adam can work wonders with this."

* * *

All Mac had to do was make the phone call. Even though it was just edging passed one in the morning he happened to get a hold of Adam, awake and playing some computer game. When he made the request for Adam to head into the lab to work on something that could not wait the tech geek was more than happy. And maybe, Flack thought, perhaps a little afraid to turn down Mac. He always tried to his smile when he saw the way Adam acted around his boss, the way he always looked like Mac terrified him because of the high respect he held for the man. Adam definitely wanted to do his best for Mac, prove that he was worthy of his job. Flack wondered if perhaps he should say something to Mac, let him know that it might be nice to show Adam some appreciation now and again.

And an hour later Flack was anxiously waiting to see what exactly it was that Adam managed to pull off of the flash drive. The little piece of technology could hold the vital answers to all of their problems. While he waited he tried not to think of how eerie the lab seemed without the constant buzz of the workers. Sure, they had a night shift, but it was much smaller than what they dealt with during the day, and he definitely did not know any of the people well enough to strike up a conversation. Even Stella had called it a night, claiming she could not keep her eyes open any longer. Last time he checked on her she was sound asleep in Mac's office. Apparently she declined having anyone give her a ride home. After what Mac had been through, after how close she came to losing him, Flack did not blame her for not wanting to leave his side.

He felt almost exactly the same about Danny.

It was like being torn in half.

Part of him wanted to stay at the lab, to be there when the results of Adam's searching came to a conclusion. But at the same time he wanted to be at the hospital, mainly to keep an eye on Danny. He began to fret, outright worry that something terrible would happen. Sonny seemed like the kind of guy crazy enough to waltz into a hospital and open fire just to keep someone silent. Noting his worry Mac sent a uniformed officer to sit outside Danny's room. Flack didn't even have to voice a word, it was like Mac read his mind.

Finally, after what felt to him like ages, he spotted Mac walking down the hall in his general direction. Adam had requested he be relocated as his constant watching was making him nervous. He waited, a bundle of energy, for Mac to make it down the hall, some papers in one hand.

"So?" he asked when he could wait no longer.

A cat-caught-the-canary grin spread across Mac's face as he held up the papers. "Everything. Danny got us everything. I don't know how the boy did it, but there is enough here to put Sonny away for the rest of his life."

The news set off a little spark of happiness in Flack, yet he knew the other shoe had yet to drop. "There is one problem, right? I can sense a but..."

"But we have to find the bastard first."


	32. Five in the Morning

Update to profile...

**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-two: Five in the Morning**

Sleeping. Who the hell could sleep with the thoughts running through his mind? He had been sent home by Mac to get some sleep, to rest before the new day dawned. Something about him being able to focus better. Flack could care less about his state of mind, so to speak. Things had spiraled so far out of control that all he wanted was for this whole mess to finally come to an end. At least for the time being Mac had produced enough reasonable doubt to the shooting in the abandoned building that they let him out of jail. It was kind of nice knowing he could sleep in his own bed for the night. If he could bother to close his eyes for more than few minutes. He must have tossed and turned for hours, the blankets getting tangled 'round his legs before he finally let them fall to the bedroom floor.

He could not stop thinking about his life, the way it slipped out of control.

He went from being happy and in totally lost in love with Chandler to being alone, scared and possibly spending a portion of his life behind bars. Or maybe he would just lose his job. Someone had to pay for the death of that guy, whoever the hell he turned out to be. And dare he admit that he was starting to remember more of that night? He could see if clear as day, the way he pointed the gun in the guy's direction, felt himself pulling the trigger. The deafening roar of the gun as it went off and a bullet whizzed through the air taking the guy out. It sent a shiver down his spine to realize that he had indeed murdered the guy. But for the life of him he could not remember who the guy was, what had brought them to that place.

And the most confusing thing of all? Danny.

He found himself thinking of Danny more than he should have, caring more than he had any right. Danny, by all rights, was on the wrong side of the law, a crook, a man with a dirty past. And yet all he wanted to do was be with Danny. It was not that he loved Chandler any less, but perhaps he was finally coming to the conclusion that Chandler was gone and not coming back. He had to move on at some point and he liked to think that Chandler would understand. By no means did he plan on forgetting the love of his life, but he needed to find some sort of happiness in his days or he was likely to end up on the wrong side of his own gun.

Closing his eyes, he let out a sigh. When he realized he was not going to spend a second of the night sleeping he got up, sat on the couch in his living room and turned on the television. It played for hours, but if anyone asked him what show he watched, well, he would not have an answer for them. It might have been the news. For all he knew it was a set of infomercials. He was not really paying attention so what did it matter in the long run? His mind kept jumping back and forth between the same list of things. Chandler. The fire. Danny. Sonny Sassone. The flashdrive safely tucked away in the evidence vault at the lab.

At some point around four in the morning he heard the sound of someone moving around in the hallway outside his apartment, finally climbing out of his dark thoughts. He tensed as the odd sounding footsteps shuffled in his direction. He thought about the gun he had left sitting on the counter in the kitchen. Would he be able to reach it in time if he needed to? And then he just about jumped off the couch at the unexpected knock on the door. Who the hell could be paying him a visit at such an odd hour? Tense, ready to be jumped, he walked across the living room, undoing the locks on the door and pulling it open just enough to see who stood there. Then he pulled the door open further.

"Danny, you should be in the hospital," he said, stepping back to let the injured man into his apartment.

"Hate them damn places," he grumbled as he shuffled in, a hand held somewhat protectively against his abdomen.

Flack closed and locked the door behind him. "Why are you here? I mean," he fumbled, realizing how rude he sounded. The second he saw Danny his heart began to beat a little faster, much the way it had when he looked at Chandler.

"I had nowhere else to go," Danny replied. Then let his eyes drift to the floor. "That's a lie. I could have gone home or just left the city."

"But?"

Danny looked up at him. "I don't know what the hell is going on," he confessed, his voice on the brink of breaking. "You come waltzing into my life and now..." Danny shook his head. "I shouldn't feel the way that I do, and maybe I am some sort of fool hoping and wishing you might see me in another light. But you're a cop and me, I've been on the wrong side of the law most of my life. What could you possibly see in me?"

Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the adrenaline from the last few days. Hell, it could have been a combination of the two for all he knew, but Flack decided right then and there to act on the way he felt. He wanted to finally know one way or the other if what he felt was the real thing or merely a desire to fill the void left by Chandler's departure. He tried to be careful, constantly reminding himself that Danny had been seriously injured not too long ago and had been holed up in the hospital. By all rights he should have been in the hospital still instead of standing in Flack's apartment. But that reasoning went right out the window the second he kissed Danny. It sent a shiver of warmth through his body and what should have been a simple kiss turned into something more.


	33. I Can't Help It

**Chapter Thirty-three: I Can't Help It**

He kept his hands wrapped around the warm cup of coffee in the chill of the early morning. People strolled by him en-route to their various destinations. None of them paid him any attention and he rather preferred it that way, as he was not really watching them. His vision was unfocused, his eyes cast down toward the dirty sidewalk with its long since flattened pieces of chewed gum. His mind should have been racing with a never ending series of questions given the way his night had gone, yet he found himself feeling relatively calm. At least for the time being. Absently he checked his watch wondering what could be taking them so long. By all rights he should have been back at his apartment instead of sitting on the steps of their building, but he needed to speak with someone he could trust, someone who would not judge him for the actions he took. And though he felt close to everyone at the lab there was only one person he felt he could talk to.

"Flack?" he heard Stella say his name. He turned to look at her, finding her standing a step behind him, a frown on her face at the sight of him just sitting there. "What are you doing out here at this hour?"

"Waiting for your husband," he answered her, flashing a friendly smile. "I was kind of hoping to have a word with him before he went into work."

"He's on his way down," she informed him. "Something on your mind?"

Flack shook his head, climbing to his feet. "Just a little something I want to get his opinion on, nothing too important."

She gave him a brief hug, a kiss on the cheek. "I can tell when you're lying, Don Flack," she playfully chided. "I can also tell when you have something on your mind. Whatever it is, I promise not to pry. Just don't keep him too long, hm? There is a great deal of work to be done at the lab. And after the events of the other night, well, you could say he's walking on thin ice with certain people."

"When is he not?"

Stella actually laughed, a musical sound. "Good point." She gave him a pat on the arm. "I will see you later. Don't make my husband too late."

"I promise to have him back to you post-haste."

Flack stood in place as she walked off. Sometimes he allowed himself to forget what a great woman she truly was, how strong and willing to stand by her friends. The perfect woman for someone like Mac Taylor. They could not have been a better couple. Somehow Stella found the way to separate their private life from the professional life, and all the while she seemed comfortable with the memory of Mac's first wife, now deceased. What he would not give to find someone as special as her, as great at loving him as she was at loving Mac. It was the sort of relationship he figured most people wanted, but very few were ever blessed to find.

"What's on your mind, Flack?" Mac said as he stepped down beside him, following his line of sight. By now Stella had vanished into the early morning crowd.

"It's...last night," Flack started off, was then bumped by one of the other building's occupants. "You know, let's talk somewhere more private, I don't want...I'm not comfortable here."

"Okay."

Flack followed his good friend as Mac led him into the apartment, retracing his steps until they stood before his apartment door. Slipping the key into the lock he pushed open the door and invited Flack in. The place was cozy, filled with books and other various knick-knacks people accumulated throughout the years. He thought about sitting on the couch to get comfortable, then thought better of it. He did not want to make this talk too long and drawn out. He sort of promised a certain person to have Mac at work in a decent amount of time.

"Private enough?" Mac closed the door.

"I..." Now that the moment was upon him he was not entirely sure what to say or how to even begin. He was going to lose his nerve, going to have spent a good hour or two sitting outside for nothing. "Last night...I..." He hung his head, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck.

"Flack?"

"Danny came by my place," he finally managed to blurt out.

When he looked up he saw the frown on Mac's face. "Shouldn't he still be in the hospital?"

"Apparently he checked himself out."

"And all to see you?"

"Yeah," Flack answered, his eyes roving over the room. What he wanted to say next, what he truly wanted to talk to Mac about, he could not bring himself to look at his friend while he said the words. He did not want to see the look on Mac's face. "I kissed him, Mac, and..." He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling somewhat shameful. He swore up and down that he would not let that happen, that he would not let himself feel bad for the way things went.

"You slept with him," Mac seemed to come to his own conclusion.

Flack could only nod in response.

"Huh, well, I honestly don't know what to say, I mean..." Mac seemed a little at a loss for words.

The silence prompted Flack to start speaking. "We were extremely careful, given his condition. And it's not like either of us meant for it to happen, Mac, it just sort of did and-"

"You seem bothered by this, Flack."

"Aren't you?" he countered, on the verge of losing control. This was what he meant to talk with Mac about, yet could not believe he actually told him what happened. The kiss, one simple kiss led to something so much bigger. Even now as he stood there he had mixed feelings about the whole affair. On some personal level he knew it had been what he wanted, perhaps not in that exact moment, but at a later date. And at the same time he couldn't help think that in some way he had just cheated on Chandler. "Mac, I just slept with a criminal. I slept with a man who works for Sonny Sassone."

"Worked," Mac corrected him. "Worked for Sonny Sassone."

"Works for, doesn't work for, what does it matter, Mac? I slept with him."

"Why does it bother you so much?"

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he could not bring himself to say them. He knew how ridiculous he sounded, the thought one of pure craziness. Instead of answering right away he settled on the edge of the sofa, hands hanging limply between his legs. It had been one hell of a night, that was for sure. In fact, the last few days had been one crazy ride, one he actually wanted to live through again. With the exception of losing Chandler. But without the loss of Chandler...

Mac regarded him with a knowing expression. "You feel like you cheated on him, don't you?"

Flack nodded.

"Look at me, Flack." The tone of his voice prompted Flack to meet his gaze. "It's says a lot about you, the depth of your love for Chandler. I am not saying you have to forget him. But you can hold on to what you had with him and still move on with your life. You know as well as I do that he would not want you to sit around pining over what could have been. You need to live your life, Flack. And if that means falling in love with Danny, then so be it."

"But the things he's done..."

"You can't control your heart, Flack. We have no say in who we love."


	34. It Happens

**Chapter Thirty-four: It Happens  
**

Danny sat uncomfortably on the couch feeling out of place. When he awoke that morning he found the bed he slept into be foreign, confusing him for a fraction of a second. Then the night came roaring back. His feelings about the whole affair were definitely mixed. On one level he got the answer to the burning question of whether or not someone like Flack could ever love him. But at the same time he felt wrong, out of place. He had climbed out of the bed, slipped back into his clothes, wincing in pain. Upon locating his pain medication he down a pill or two, then settled on the couch, all the while wondering what the hell happened to the detective. There had been no note left on the pillow or on a counter in the kitchen. He even made sure to check the fridge and the coffee table in the living room. Nothing. Not even so much as an inkling.

As the hours ticked by her grew more and more ill at ease. Surely Flack was a more stand-up guy, not the kind to just have flings and walk out the door to never look back. At one point he got up and wandered around the place, picking up random objects and giving them a good looking over. It was quite a view into the world of Don Flack. He examined pictures of Flack's family, feeling a pang of guilt over his brother and his mother. He really should give them a call at some point, let them know he was fairing okay. How long had it been since he heard his mother's sweet voice? And with Sonny on the loose his brother stood a good chance of ending up dead. All because of him.

Moving through the apartment he studied books, even found a few newspaper clippings secreted away in a drawer. He felt sort of bad for snooping, but without anything better to do he found it to be a good way to pass the time. Then he opened the drawer of the bedside table, settling down on the bed as he pulled out a framed photo. A picture of Flack and some guy Danny vaguely recognized as one of the firefighters who died in that tragic building collapse. The man Flack had loved. He could see it written all over the detective's face. The two of them looked so happy, so comfortable with each other. A perfect couple.

The kind of love he wanted to have some day.

Though not the kind of love he felt he deserved.

Sighing, he placed the photo back in the drawer and closed it. What an odd place, he thought as he walked out of the bedroom, for a cherished picture to be kept. And who the hell had he been fooling, thinking all this time that Flack could love him? What they had last night, it was just a one time thing. The detective prided himself on his work, that was evident by his apartment. Flack lived on the right side of the law. He lived on the wrong side. They could never make it work. Not without putting his life on the line and putting Flack's career in jeopardy. He was not willing to do that, not to someone who treated him as nicely as Flack. Even Flack's boss was a stand-up guy. The Mac Taylor that Sonny Sassone always spoke of with venom in his voice.

This was not his place in life. This was not where he belonged. He had been living in some sort of fantasy world to think he could ever fit into the world of Flack and the rest of the people on the right side of the law. This, however, was the kind of life he wanted. Falling in with Sonny had been the biggest mistake of his life, one he desperately wanted to take back. If only he could find a way to right his wrongs. Surely there was something he could do, some action he could take. Aside from giving the good guys the flashdrive.

Information or not they still needed to get their hands on Sonny.

And then an idea came to him.

Glancing around the apartment one last time he went over to the phone on the wall and picked up the handset. Punching in a number he knew all too well he waited with baited breath for someone to pick-up on the other end. When they did the sound of the voice nearly brought his heart to a stop. He did not even have to bother speaking, in some weird way the person knew who he was, and that sort of scared him. He listened as angry words were spewed into his ear. And when the right moment came he uttered his first phrase.

"I'm in the home of the detective." A few more choice words said about his course of actions. "I think...we need to meet. This would be better if we did it in person." No further arguing as he got a time and location. He located a piece of scrap paper, an old envelope, and scribbled the information down. "No, no, I can be there, Sonny."

Hanging up the phone he felt a slight stab of guilt as he caught sight of a picture of Flack hanging on the fridge. Flack and his friends from the lab. They looked so happy, so close. Plucking the envelope from the counter he folded it and shoved it into his pocket, hissing in pain. Checking his watch he grumbled over the fact he could not take another pain pill for at least two more hours. His run through the warehouse had been foolish, even if it did get them the flashdrive and save Mac's life. And yet, here he was willing to walk right back into the lion's den to face Sonny. He had a plan in mind, one that was not going to end well for him, but he figured it was the last good thing he could do with his life. A way for him to make everything better.


	35. Ain't it Always that Way

A/N: Profile update.

**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-five: Ain't it Always That Way**

When he returned to his apartment to find Danny long gone he felt a range of emotions. The one that disappointed him the most was a sense of relief. He silently chided himself for feeling that way. So what if he was confused about his feelings, lost and utterly baffled? He had no right to feel relief at returning home to find Danny gone. By all rights he should have embraced his sadness at not finding Danny waiting for him. On the way home he kept thinking about the way he would walk in the door to find Chandler waiting with dinner or some story about how his day had gone. But for some reason his memories of the not too distant past kept mixing with the last few days. Chandler would morph into Danny and then back again. It only served to confuse him further. At one point he decided the best thing would be to see Danny, to hear him, to feel him. But Danny was gone, without so much as a goodbye. No note. Nothing. And as he left his keys on the counter he realized how he had done the same thing. How terrible it must have been for Danny to awake and find him gone without explanation.

"Idiot," he grumbled under his breath.

And where could Danny have gotten off to?

He spent a few hours trying to figure it out, all the while hoping Danny would just arrive back at his place. Of course, things never worked out that smoothly for him. After a while he grew tired of calling Danny's cell phone. Grew tired of pacing the apartment with the lingering hope diminishing with each passing hour. In the end he grabbed his stuff and headed out the door. Danny was always afraid of Sonny Sassone. Everyone seemed to be afraid of the fool. Not him, not anymore. The wanna-be mobster ruined his life one too many times and he was not going to sit by and let Sonny destroy what little remained. Now was the time for him to take charge, to take back the control of his life. And how exactly was he going to do that?

Leaving his apartment with a particular destination in mind he kept his pace brisk, weaving through the throng of people on the sidewalks. He actually made relatively good timing, arriving at his intended target in less time than he expected. Standing outside the brick building he glanced up and down the street before letting his focus rest on the vacant structure. This is where it all began to fall apart, at least in his mind. In reality it started with Chandler's death, but it was this place, the room in the back corner that really got the ball rolling. Not seeing even the slightest hint of a cop in the area he jogged across the street and disappeared into the alley. Following the damp pavement he made it 'round to the back of the building where he knew he would find an easy to traverse entrance.

All too soon he was standing within the building. Somewhere nearby he heard the scuttling, scraping sound of rats. The rhythm of dripping water came from somewhere upstairs. None of it was important. Following the darkened hallways he made it back to the room he knew all too well. The answers must be found here, he figured, because this was where he forgot everything. By now the place had been cleaned as best as possible, the blood not so noticeable, though the smell still lingered. Last time he came here things had not gone as planned. This room seemed to bring with it a measure of bad luck. But he was willing to give it another go. With his arms crossed over his chest he began to move around the room trying his best to remember every little thing that had taken place.

Why this room? What kept bringing him back to this place? What sort of significance did it play in the grander scheme of things? And what made him think he would find Danny here?

Because in some cruel way the world like to have fun at his expense.

He heard the scuffle of shoes on the dirtied floor far too late. Whirling around with his gun in hand he found himself standing face to face with the monster he hunted. Sonny looked a bit worse for the wear, banged up and completely pissed off. In one hand he gripped tightly to a gun of his own. The other hand was resting on Danny's shoulder. It took a moment for Flack to get the picture, for all to make sense to him, and once it did he felt sick to his stomach. He had been played a fool. Danny never once wanted anything to do with him. He had merely been a tool to get close to Mac.

Disheartened Flack let his arm fall to his side, his gun pointed uselessly at the ground. "How..." He found he could not form the words he most wanted to say. This was unbelievable, something he just could not fathom. What a fool he had been to think Danny wanted anything to do with him. The night before, it must have meant nothing, just another piece of the puzzle, another cog in the machine.

Sonny smiled. "Problem, Detective Flack?" He nudged Danny a step forward. "You really are too stupid for the job, you know that? It was all too easy for me to figure out that you would return here once Danny went missing. You should have called your friends. They might have been able to help you. Now you can end up in a pine box like your buddy, you know, the one I fried."

"Fuck you," Flack said, directing the words more at Danny then Sonny. With Sonny's gun trained on him Danny easily slipped Flack's gun free. Flack noticed how hard Danny tried to keep from meeting his gaze. More than anything he wanted to let his anger out, wanted to vent his rage, but where would it get him in the long run? Still, the impulse to act was hard to override and he struck out, punching Danny in the jaw. He felt a measure of satisfaction as Danny took a few steps back, surprised by the action.

All it did was make Sonny laugh. "You know what I find amazing about this whole thing? The two of you." He jerked Flack's gun out of Danny's hand. With one gun trained on Flack, he pointed the other at Danny. "Did you know that all along Danny-boy here was supposed to draw you further into the spider's web so I could finish you off? The perfect way to make Mac Taylor hurt. I knew I would never get close enough to his wife, but you, once your little firefighter guy went up in a puff of smoke I knew I had my in. You made it too easy."

"Shut up," Flack choked out. He was having a hard time deciding if he was angry or sad. Perhaps in the end he was nothing more than empty. He tried so hard to get over Chandler's passing. He had hoped that Danny was going to be there to help him heal, to show him how to love again. Instead he had been betrayed and foolishly let it happen.

"Unfortunately," continued Sonny, the distaste in his voice growing thicker, "Danny-boy here can't be trusted anymore. Sure, he delivered the goods like a well trained mutt. But after what happened in the warehouse...well," Sonny shrugged. "Sorry Danny, can't have you around anymore. Truly a shame, you had potential, such great potential."

"Just do it already," Danny muttered, his hands clenched into fists.

Sonny shrugged. "If you wish."

Sonny pulled the trigger of one gun. Seconds later Flack felt the searing heat of pain as a bullet tore through skin and muscle.


	36. So Cold

**Chapter Thirty-six: So Cold  
**

The bullet tore through Flack's abdomen, bringing him to his knees as the blood began to flow freely from the considerable wound. His brain screamed in shock, surprise. All of his knowledge, all the little tidbits he picked-up while working with the lab techs popped into the forefront of his mind. Wounds to the abdomen were some of the hardest to survive. The bullet could tear through any number of vital organs creating mass havoc with his insides. He could very well be bleeding to death as he sat on the scummy floor of the little back room. How funny, he thought, that he should lose his life in a room where he killed another person. Sort of like some form of justice.

His hands went to his stomach, the warmth of the blood passing over and through his fingers scary, yet oddly calming at the same time. He watched Danny react to the sound of the gun, diving toward Sonny. A second shot echoed through the room and Flack half expected to see Danny hit the ground. Instead the one time con-man, as that was the only way Flack could think of him, barreled into Sonny Sassone with full force. The two of them disappeared into the darkened hallway vanishing from sight. The scuffle grew into something more as he heard the sound of things being broken, bodies being shoved into walls, curse words slung into the air.

And all the while he sat there dying.

He felt the cold in his toes first, a numbing chill passing over his body. Try as he might not to actually look at the wound he let his eyes drift south. The amount of blood, it brought a fresh wave of terror over him. His hands had turned completely red, the lower half of his shirt had turned crimson. The rivers spilled over his legs, dripped onto the floor. At the rate of the blood loss he figured he would dead before Danny even managed to get back to the room. And what did it matter? He had lost the man of his dreams in a fire only to fall for someone who double crossed him.

Perhaps dying was not going to be so bad.

Flack began to shiver as the room grew colder. No, wait, it wasn't the room, it was him, he was the one getting colder. Death was creeping closer with each beat of his heart, each breath he took. The edges of his vision began to grow dark, a thunderous roar passing through his ears as the blood rushed through. He felt nauseous, coughing as something pressed against the back of his throat. Blood, more blood. It trickled from between his lips and he knew that his time ran short.

Of all the ways he thought he might die this was way down on his list. Sure he expected to die in the line of duty, perhaps take a bullet while getting into a gun fight with a some perp. But in the back room of an abandoned building? A nagging voice told him this was the room he was meant to die in, that he managed to escape death once before while here. And this time, this time he was going to be the one dragged down into the darkness. When his friends got the call about the body they would come traipsing back this way and stumble over him. They would start collecting pieces of evidence and taking pictures while all the while trying to figure out what happened to him. What led him back here to end up this way?

Tears coursed down his cheeks as he realized how much he wanted to stay for them, to be with them. He thought about Mac and all the things the lab leader had done for him, had taught him. No more nights of laughter with Hawks and Lindsay. No more debates with Aidan and Stella. No more moments of weirdness with Sid. No more geek outs with Adam. All of them would have to move on without him, learn to live their lives like he never existed. And what would they do when a new detective showed up to work the cases with them? Would this new detective be as embraced as him? Would they care as much as he did about getting through the science to the right answer?

A loud bang resounded throughout the building making him jump a fraction of an inch. At this point he was finding it hard to keep his eyes open, finding it hard to draw in each breath. The end was coming and it looked as though Sonny was going to get his deepest wish. He was going to finally get the blow to Mac Taylor he longed for, strike the lab leader where it hurt the most by taking away one of his valued friends.

Flack heard some shouting, unable to make out the words being said as he struggled to stay awake a little while longer. His mind flashed back to the first time he saw Danny outside an old apartment building much like the one he was currently dying in. How could he have known in that space and time that the handsome man with the glasses was going to change his life forever? That Danny was going to be the one who helped him heal his heart only to betray him in the long run? Flack wondered if perhaps that was the day Sonny decided he needed to be the one who died. The minute the criminal set eyes on him there was probably a knife dangling over his head, his time greatly limited.

All Sonny had to do was wait for the pieces to fall into place.

One word sliced through the air. Someone was calling his name, screaming for him. It kind of sounded like Chandler. Was his lover calling him into the darkness, pulling him toward the end? Would he close his eyes to find Chandler waiting with open arms, a loving smile on his face? He shuddered, now finding it hard to breathe. He wanted to stop, wanted to let the oxygen in his lungs be the last he ever tasted. Another cough brought more blood spilling out of his mouth, the coppery tang lingering.

Someone appeared in the doorway. They shouted his name, then started yelling other things. None of the words seemed to reach his ears. He could see their lips moving, but could not make out what was being said. And then they were standing before him and in the haze lingering in his eyesight he made out Mac. He tried to say his friend's name, tried to say anything, but when he opened his mouth he started coughing again.

And then suddenly he could hear the world around him. All the shouting going on somewhere in the belly of the building. Mac, kneeling before him pressing something against the wound in his stomach, speaking a mile a minute. "Don't you die on me, Flack, you hear me? You are not going to give in. I need you to fight."

Flack felt his eyes flutter.

A hand on his cheek. "Look at me, Don, come on. Stay with me, please." The pleading mixed with sorrow evident in his voice only made it harder for Flack. He was fighting, but knew there was no point in it. The next time he tried to draw a breath he managed only to cough up more blood. "Don, don't close your eyes."

With the last of his strength he reached out, wrapping his bloodied fingers around Mac's hand, hating the fear he saw in Mac's eyes. And then he no longer felt the pain or the cold. The world ceased to exist in that moment. His whole body shuddered and he felt his eyes close as the darkness finally swept over him.


	37. Gone

**Chapter Thirty-seven: Gone  
**

"I've got a pulse but it's weak," yelled one of the paramedics as Flack was wheeled through the emergency room. A flurry of activity surrounded him, a large amount of blood on him and paramedics alike. Danny watched in stone cold silence as the detective disappeared from sight with two of his friends in wake. When they stormed into the apartment building he nearly jumped out of his skin, never having been so happy to see cops in all his life. With a measure of happiness he knew Sonny Sassone was lying on a stretcher of his own, only this one came with a black bag and a black van. Finally, after all these months, after everything the evil bastard had done to him, Danny was free of Sonny Sassone. All thanks to one well placed bullet by Mac Taylor.

Of course, watching the spot of red appear between Sonny's eyes was short lived as he remembered Flack had been shot. By the time he got anywhere near the back room the place was swarming with people, all of them yelling as they tried to stabilize the detective enough to make the drive to the hospital. He feared somewhere along the way that Flack would die, the last moments of his life spent in the back of an ambulance. He bummed a ride to the hospital with one of the officers, not quite comfortable enough to ask Mac or one of the others for a lift. Mainly because he worried what they might say to him. And he half expected they would cart him off to jail. No, this was better, standing in the background while they stood fast by the side of the fallen friend.

This was not his world as he had told himself time and time again. This was not where he belonged and nothing had gone right since the first day he laid eyes on Flack. It might be better, he figured, if he just disappeared. Now that he no longer had to worry about Sonny he could try to make a new go at his life. A new city, a new state, a new life. Something far removed from the mistakes of his past. With one last look at the emergency room he turned on his heel and ducked out the doors into the cool night. He made it almost out of the parking lot before he heard someone call his name. He refused to stop, thrusting his hands into his pockets, his head hanging down. The sound of someone running in his direction was not even enough to spark his attention.

And then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He did not have to look to know who it was having grown used to the sound of the voice.

"Danny, you should stay, make sure you get looked at," Mac said in an emotionless voice. Of all the people he expected to come after him Danny figured Mac would be the first; which was funny since he assumed Mac would want to stay with Flack. the two of them seemed pretty close.

He shrugged off the hand. "I should be going."

"Danny-"

"Let me go," he barked, turning his anger toward the head of the crime lab. "Can't you see that I've messed up things enough? Why the hell would you want me to stick around and make them worse?"

"How have you messed up, Danny?" prompted Mac, somehow keeping his composure. "Did you let love lead you in a new direction? Did you listen to your heart and discover a new way of life? So what if you fell into the wrong crowd, Danny. Life is full of second chances. Consider yourself lucky to have gotten out alive instead of the way Sonny did. That easily could have been you I left lying on the floor, Danny."

"You should," he muttered the words, his shoulders slumping, the anger being short lived. "I got Flack hurt, probably even killed and-"

Mac shook his head. "You had a plan, Danny. I bet you went back to Sonny to lead him into a trap. It wasn't your fault Flack was in that room tonight. He walked into it of his own free will. But you, you led Sonny there with the intent of killing him, am I right?" When Danny said nothing Mac pushed on. "But seeing Flack threw you off your game, it gave Sonny the opportunity he needed. My guess is that you told him Flack would be there and like magic, he was. You didn't know what to do, Danny. And you need to know it was _not_ your fault."

"He shouldn't have been there," Danny felt the sting of unshed tears. What bothered him most was that walking into that room he had led Sonny to the exact thing he wanted. Mac figured out his plan somehow. Yes, he had gone to Sonny with all the intent of bringing him back to that room, the room he so often used for horrible things, and putting an end to Sonny. He wanted a chance to get on with his life, to find something better, to get out from underneath Sonny's thumb. But Flack, he shouldn't have actually been there and now look at how things had gone. He could have very well killed the one person he thought could save his life, pull him off the wrong path and set him straight.

Without speaking Mac closed the distance between them, embracing Danny much the way he imagined Mac hugged Flack in those times of need. Non one but his mother had ever given him a hug and it was the last straw, the final moment in the otherwise long day. He let the tears flow, sadden by how wrong everything had gone, by how fucked up his plan went. Mac said nothing, offering him a shoulder to cry on; which proved to be the best thing in the world.

And when the moment passed Mac placed a hand on his shoulder and directed him back toward the hospital.


	38. Hi and Goodbye

**Chapter Thirty-eight: Hi and Goodbye  
**

He stood inside the hospital room listening to the sound of the equipment, the multiple machines performing their many jobs in the quest to keep the detective alive. In the gloom provided by a weak light he felt removed, outside of reality. Lying in the hospital bed, a pristine white blanket covering the many bandages to his chest, was by far the strongest man Danny had ever laid eyes. Only he no longer looked like a headstrong detective. The color had drained considerably from his features, his eyes looking sunken because of the shadows. A breathing tube passed between lips, the slow rise and fall of a damaged chest a silent promise in the depressing place.

Danny wanted to walk across the room, stride with purpose in each step until he stood beside the bed. Instead he found himself rooted in place, unsure if he should even be in the room. The others had left some time ago and surely by this late hour the visiting hours were over. But in his time with Sonny he learned how to be sneaky, how to get around authority and into places where he should not have been. Perhaps he thought if he moved he might set off some unknown alarm, trip on an invisible wire and send into motion the many doctors and nurses within the building. One step forward and he feared the door would open, someone in a white coat whisking him away before he got out a single word.

He swallowed finding his throat to be dry. He tried to lick his lips but the affect was not as desired. Shuddering he ran a hand through his hair. How many people had he helped hurt over the last few years? It did not matter to him that he did not have a personal hand in what happened. He never went out of his way to stop Sonny, never took that important step to place himself between the tyrant and his intended victim. So he was just as responsible for all those injured and killed by the hands of his former boss. At least where Sonny was he could no longer bring harm down upon those he deemed unfit. A small consolation prize considering what it almost cost in the end.

A good detective almost gave his life.

And for what, a foolish game Sonny wanted to play with Mac Taylor all because the two of them butted heads a few years back? Childish on the part of Sonny.

_Stop thinking about him,_ Danny chided himself. _Stop wasting so much time on someone who isn't important, on the person who fucked up your life. You're free now. You can do anything you want. So walk across the room and let Flack know how much you appreciate all he and his friends have done for you._

It sounded like the right thing to do, the move any person in his place might make. But still he remained where he stood, his heart beating out a frantic rhythm in his chest. Flack would not be happy to see him here no matter what words Mac passed along. The detective had nearly died because of him, because he felt he could not be honest with a man who wanted nothing more than to help him. A single tear of regret slowly eased its way down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand. This was not the time nor the place for such things.

As he listened to the beep of the heart monitor he wondered what he should do next, what move he should make in his life. Should he stay in the city and try to get through each day with its haunting memories? Or would he be better off somewhere else, somewhere far away from this forsaken city? Studying Flack, his black hair, the contours of his face Danny knew that leaving was out of the question. All his life he tried to hide the fact he preferred men over women. Oh, he was not gay, not be any stretch of the truth. There were many nights he got lost in the arms of women, drunk to the point he didn't care what the hell was happening. Another unwanted gift from Sonny.

But to feel love, to experience what it was like to have someone care for him the way he cared for them, it was entirely knew. His mother spoke of such things, the love evident in her eyes when she talked about her time with his father. He wanted that, to find the person he was meant to spend the rest of his life with. Could it be Flack? Was he supposed to be out there the day Sonny made the trip to the deli so that his path would cross with the detective's? Had fate been toying with him all these years, leading him along the wrong path and yet right into the arms of the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?

_Listen to yourself, you lunatic. One night of passion and you're already in love. Head over heels. Completely one hundred percent smitten. And you don't even know if he wants you the same way. For all you know you could be his rebound guy, the one he uses and tosses to the curb once his heart has fully mended._

Perhaps. Did it matter, though, did he care if Flack wanted to use him for only a short time before discarding him like an unwanted piece of trash? Of course not. To be loved, even for the briefest of times, it was the greatest thing in the world. And if in the end he got burned, then he would still be all the better for it. He hated to think what it must feel like to walk through life, to live every day and in those final moments of life know that love passed him by. To have never experienced such a strong emotion…

Danny took a step forward. He wanted a new life. He wanted to start fresh, to change things for the better. He wanted to be somebody his mother could love without those unspoken questions in her eyes. He wanted to know his brother was safe, to stop worrying about him. He wanted to get out of bed in the morning without that strong feeling of self loathing and hate. He wanted to wake up in the arms of someone who loved him, not someone just looking for a fun time.

He wanted to be with Flack.

He wanted to love the detective, to open his heart and let in a whole new world of possibilites.

Danny took hold of Flack's hand finding it rather warm given the amount of time he spent on the operating table, the amount of blood he lost. He moved his thumb in little circles over the back of Flack's hand enjoying the feel of their palms pressed together, their fingers intwined. What a beautiful feeling. He tried despeartaly not to think of the one time they spent in bed together, how caring and gentle, yet needy the detective had been.

Not thinking of those moments would make it easier on himself. He leaned forward, taking a moment to whisper a single word in the detective's ear before kissing him on the cheek. Danny gave Flack's hand a gentle squeeze wishing all the while he could look into the bottomless blue eyes once again. Then he let his hand slip free and turned his back, heading out the door without another glance.


	39. A New Life

**Chapter Thirty-nine: A New Life****  
**

When he arrived at this ramshackle apartment he was surprised to find Stella, of all people, waiting outside his door. She held in one hand a cup of warm coffee, steam still coming from the hot liquid. Apparently she had not been waiting too long. Danny expected her to be at home with her husband sound a sleep at his side, especially given the proceedings of the day. To have her turn up outside his place, it must have meant something. His step faltered when he first saw her and for a moment he thought of turning right around and leaving. But before he could even get the thought through his head she turned, spotting him. Wondering what she wanted with him he trudged forward, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Something I can do for you, detective?" he inquired. He stopped before her unwilling to welcome her into his apartment. This was not someone he planned on getting close with, not when he was making plans to leave the city. Perhaps had his life taken a different turn they might have been able to be friends.

"I came to offer you this," she said as she produced an envelope from her back pocket. His name had been written across the front in simple black pen. "I think you should read it over before following through with those plans of yours," she told him before brushing passed him on her way out of the building.

Danny watched over his shoulder until she disappeared around the corner. A second later he heard the ding of the elevator. His eyes went back to the envelope. Who had sent it? What did it contain? More importantly, how the hell did she know he was going to leave? Shaking his head he slipped his keys out of his pocket and into the lock. He stepped into the apartment a heartbeat later, shutting the door quietly behind him. The place seemed so small, so cold now for some strange reason. There had been days when he wanted to escape the place, but they had been few and far between. This had been his home, the place where he rested his head after dealing with Sonny's shit every day. In some ways it had been an escape, in other ways a cage. Now it was just one more thing binding him to the city. One more thing to dump when he packed his bags and made his retreat.

Throwing the keys on the coffee table along with the envelope he moved into the kitchen in search of something to have for a late dinner. He should probably have headed off to bed given the late hour, but the growling in his stomach refused to be ignored. Grabbing at a piece of leftover pizza in the fridge and cold can of soda he shuffled back into the living room. Sinking down on the threadbare sofa he popped on the television, a news report coming across the airwaves. The anchor was talking about a fire. He hit a button, changed the channel until he found some late night movie to get lost in. Munching on the pizza, washing it down with the soda, it was not until the third or fourth time that he realized he kept glancing toward the envelope.

He should just throw it away.

Forget about it.

But the desire to know what waited for him on the inside kept gnawing at his mind. When the curiosity got to be too much he wiped his hand on his already grimy jeans and plucked the white envelope from where it rested on the coffee table. Carefully he tore it open, producing a neatly handwritten letter. Flipping it over he frowned finding it signed, and therefore most likely written by Mac Taylor. What could the head of the crime lab have to say to him that he actually took the time to sit down and write a letter? Turning it back over he began to read the words meant only for his eyes. All the while in the back of his mind he kept thinking of Flack lying in that hospital bed.

When he reached the end of the letter he stared at it, not entirely willing to believe the black ink words. He placed it on the coffee table, stood up and ditched his empty can in the recycling bin. Walking back toward the couch he paused, his eyes on the letter. He headed for the window instead, gazing down over the city. Every neatly printed word echoed in his mind as he watched the traffic pass on the street below. It had been pretty shocking, definitely not the sort of thing he expected to read. And it gave him plenty to think about.

If he left the city he would get a fresh shot at life. He could make up any story he wanted to explain his past. The sort of past most people found mundane, boring. He never once had to mention Sonny's name or the things he stood by and let Sonny commit. He could craft a whole new life, become someone new. Or he could stay in the city, deal with the haunting memories. Face his demons. And maybe, just maybe have a life with Flack.

Danny glanced back at the letter, a nervous flutter in his stomach. It might just be the thing that swayed his decision.

Of all the things he expected to read in the letter what he actually found never once crossed his mind. Who would have thought he would be handed a chance to turn his life around? Who would have thought he would get a job offer?

From Detective Mac Taylor.

To work at the crime lab.


	40. Decisions Weigh Heavy

**Chapter Forty:**** Decisions Weigh Heavy**

The night passed by so quickly, the rising rays of the morning sun catching him off-guard. He lay in bed a while longer hoping he might be able to catch a bit more shut eye, but when it became apparent such luck was not going to fall at his feet he threw back the blankets and climbed out of bed. Grumbling under his breath like an upset child chastised for eating a cookie before dinner he went through his daily morning routine. The water in the shower was a tad hotter than he may have liked, yet it felt nice to singe his skin until it turned a bright shade of red. The subtle pain gave him something else to think about for a few fleeting moments. Precious moments when the rioting thoughts in his mind finally halted. Only to start up again as soon as he shut off the water. He towel dried, slip on fresh clothes, and headed into the rest of his small apartment. The letter from Mac Taylor offering him a job sat on the coffee table where he left it the night before.

As his eyes passed over it he paused, his step faltering. An honest job. Something he could be proud of.

Shaking his head he resumed his course to the kitchen in the quest to silence the hunger protesting loudly from his stomach. Rooting around in the fridge he managed to find a piece of pizza a day or two old. He ate it cold while leaning against a counter. Working for Sonny Sassone might have seemed like a dream come true to some people. The guy always seemed to be rolling around with large wads of cash. The vast majority of which he neglected to share with his fellow crooks. Danny marveled month after month that he had money to scrape together a rent payment. Every once in a while he actually had enough to splurge on fun, tasty foods at the grocery store. Having a permanent job with benefits and a decent cash flow might mean moving up, leaving this trashy place with its horrible memories for somewhere better. It might also mean getting something other than the bare necessities when food shopping.

He'd kill for a decent canoli.

Tossing the crust from his pizza slice into the trashcan he went to the door, pulled on his shoes, grabbed his keys and went out the door. It wasn't until he hit the street that he stopped. Where the hell was he going to go now? Day after day for some years now he rolled out of bed, followed the same dull routine, and then made his way to one of the many places Sonny chose to conduct his business. Half the time he spent behind the wheel of some pricey SUV carting the bastard around thinking it might pay off in the long run. What a fool he'd been. Duped. Lied to. With Sonny out of the picture what was he supposed to do with the rest of his day?

Danny shoved his hands into his pockets and started down the sidewalk with no particular goal in mind. At one point, while waiting for a crossing sign, he let his eyes scan the papers in the boxes positioned near the corner. His eyes lingered on one headline, the type bold and black. It proclaimed to the city how the almighty Sonny Sassone had finally perished at the hands of the cops. To actually see the story in print, the proof right before him in word, it sent a shiver down his spine. He was truly, honestly free of the evil man. A good portion of his life remained, stretched out before him waiting for him to make up his mind.

Which was actually harder than it sounded.

Eventually he ended up at Central Park. Weaving amongst the fields of green, the temperature relatively cool, he tried to figure out the pros and cons of staying or going. The only thing he actually managed to accomplish was to confuse himself even further. There was still so much promise left in this city that he loved, it would be a shame to leave. Where would he go? What about his family? He'd miss them. And the detective, he kept thinking of Flack's blue eyes, the tone of his voice. The touch of his hand. The feel of his body.

Danny sat on a nearby bench, frowning, angry at himself. It should have been the easiest thing in the world. One simple answer. Yes or no. Stay or go. He felt like he was on the verge of screaming when someone sat down beside him. Out of reflex he glanced over to check out the new person, perhaps a bit paranoid after all his time with Sonny, and was pleasantly surprised to find Mac. The head of the crime lab sat with his back straight, legs crossed at the ankles, hands clasped loosely together in his lap.

"I can tell you've been giving my offer a lot of consideration," he said. "I'm flattered."

Danny scoffed. "Yeah, well, thanks for the headache."

"You're welcome," a slight smile appeared on Mac's lips. "Have you made up your mind yet?"

"I want to say yes..."

"So what's stopping you?" Mac asked the million dollar question.

Danny merely shrugged finding it hard to express the worries and doubts racing through his mind. Every single time he thought he might have made up his mind something else popped up to send him back to the road of indecision.

"I think," Mac started out, then hesitated. "Flack woke up this morning," he said, changing his mind. "Perhaps you should go pay him a visit. At least give him a chance to say goodbye." Mac stood, taking a few steps before stopping and looking back over his shoulder. "I'm sure he'd be very happy to have you stay, Danny. As would I. Take it into consideration." A little twinkle appeared in his eye. "Even my wife has grown fond of you. Are you sure you can just walk away from it all?"

On that note Mac left him sitting on the bench in the midst of the park, watching until the detective disappeared from view. Danny shook his head, eyes closed. Did he deserve a second chance at life? A second chance to be happy?


	41. For You

**Chapter Forty-one: For You****  
**

At the hospital Danny fretted, once again at odds. This whole mess of indecision was starting to get on his nerves. When working with Sonny Sassone he used to be quick on his feet. It was one of those things he grew used to since people were always out to get Sonny. Anyone who got in the way became collateral damage. He knew for a fact that as soon as he stepped into Flack's hospital room that he would want to stay. He was falling hard for the detective and yet he still knew very little about the other man. That hadn't exactly been enough to stop them from jumping into bed together, though. The chemistry was there, present, evident, so clear others were starting to see it. And what stopped him from waltzing right in there and declaring how he felt? Simple. He was scared. What if after everything that had happened Flack never wanted to see him again, would he be able to deal with it?

According to Mac the detective would be more than happy to have him stay. Were those words spoken out of truth or a mere guess and nothing more? Mac seemed like an up and up guy, not the type to lie unless he absolutely had to in order to get what he needed. Chewing his bottom lip Danny tried to scrounge up the courage to take the extra few steps toward the closed door. All this hemming and hawing was going to drive him crazy if he gave it half a chance.

Reaching a point where he was angry at himself he grumbled under his breath and stalked toward the door like a man on death row. It swung open and he stepped inside. The familiar beep of the machines had lessened since his last visit, a few of them no longer needed. As soon as he entered the room Flack turned those blue eyes in his direction. To have them trained on him sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. He tried desperately not to think about their one and only trip into bed, but found it rather difficult. Just being near Flack was enough to take his breath away, not that he would readily admit it to anyone. Let his eyes causally glance around the room he took in all the gifts- flowers, teddy bears, get-well balloons, a load of cards- he felt like a heel for not having brought something with him.

What sort of person visited another in the hospital without once thinking of bringing a little gift to help cheer up them?

Nervous he massaged the back of his neck, entirely unsure of what to say. Now that he was actually standing in the same room he wanted to be back out in the hallway, put some distance between them. He swallowed and offered Flack a shaky smile, happy to note that some of the color had returned to the detective's face.

"How you feeling?" What a stupid question to ask. He wanted to kick himself.

"About as good as can be, considering," remarked Flack, the usual tone of his voice dulled by a mix of medication and pain. He was sitting up in the bed a bit, enough to read the day's paper without having to strain. The pages were strewn across the bed. For lack of anything better to do Danny set about collecting them into a neat stack, folding them when needed. As he worked he tried to think of something to say, but Flack beat him to the punch. "Mac tells me he offered you a job."

"Yeah."

"Generous offer."

"Yep."

"Let's give it up for Danny, the man of few words," remarked Flack, one corner of his mouth turning up in a smile.

With all the parts of the paper in a neat stack he settled them on the nearby table usually used for holding the patient's food. On impulse he settled on the foot of the bed, putting a small portion of his weight on the bed, most of it on one foot. He kept his eyes from Flack. "I don't know if I should take him up on the offer. Honestly, who in their right mind wants to put someone like me in charge of evidence? Don't you think it's a crazy idea?"

"No," answered Flack with such certainty Danny looked at him. "In my years of working with the man I have learned one thing about Mac Taylor."

"And what would that be?"

"He's an amazing judge of character." Flack titled his head slightly to the side, studying Danny. "You don't think you deserve the opportunity. Trust me, if Mac didn't think you capable of doing the job he wouldn't have bothered to offer."

It was like the detective was taking a trip through his thoughts. Danny looked away trying to think of the next best thing to say. He chewed on his bottom lip. He had to admit, it was nice to know that someone cared enough for him that they wanted to offer him a better path in life. In all the years he knew Sonny Sassone the rat bastard showed very little in the way of caring emotions for those who worked under him. The only time any sort of emotion cropped up to the surface it was a boiling over of anger. How long had he known the people in the crime lab? The people Sonny was always trying to get rid of because he claimed them to be the worst of the scum in the city. Perhaps a handful of days. He knew them for less than a month or two. Such a short time and yet they showed him more love, more concern than he had ever seen in his life; with the exception of his mother.

"I might leave," he said the words quietly, almost whispering them.

"Why?"

Danny shrugged. "Is there a point to staying? I mean, don't get me wrong," he quickly pushed on. "I appreciate all you guys have done, the job offer, everything. Lordie knows I definitely don't deserve it. But there's too much history here, too much of my past, it'll only serve to make a new job harder. Especially when you consider you guys want me to play for the other side, the good guys."

"You are a good guy," pointed out Flack.

"Maybe I'll be able to believe that some day."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Flack struggled to sit up a bit more in the bed. The pain on his face was a clear indicator of what a bad idea it had been and he slumped back against the pillows. With those steely blue eyes he gazed at Danny. When he spoke his voice was confident, certain. "You're staying."

"Flack-"

"Come here," the detective interrupted him.

Danny hesitated, then got up and walked the two steps so he was standing at the head of the hospital bed. He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "I have no reason to stay."

Much to his surprise Flack reached out, grabbing a handful of his t-shirt and pulled him down. Their lips met in a simple yet pleasurable kiss. Danny could feel the heat, the hunger behind the gesture. Had he been a cartoon character his heart might have done a little gymnastic routine in his chest. All too soon the kiss ended, their lips parting. Looking into those blue eyes he realized that the only answer he needed to all the burning questions in his mind was staring right back at him.

"Aren't I reason enough to stay?" inquired Flack, his voice soft.

A slight smile tugged at the corner's of Danny's mouth. He could have voiced a reply, instead he leaned forward touching his lips to Flack's, his mind made up.

**FIN**


End file.
